[return to Contents Page]
We're anchored in the shallow part of the bay between the riprap and the rock shore, showing brown algae on our hull and hammered by rain that should have held off till late fall. Every morning there's a clatter of clam shells on the deck and gulls swooping down to their breakfast. They're defiant, but wary, and when we step out they spread their skank wings and flap like stiff laundry to the sky.
against the backwash
We finally set out, big wind all night, no sleep. Outside our sail, the draft behind wind pulls us into its own receding. We're drawn toward fright, but it's worth it for this--we see the maxim: darkest, then dawn.