The sun finally rises above Tugboat Island. It will transit a low arc in the Southern sky and disappear below the trees in the Southwest by 15:30. Darkness will return by 16:30. We have sun and a clear, calm sky. The sea is like glass and steams in the cold air.
In the ‘Tao Of Sailing’ by Ray Grigg, there is a description of fog:
“The air silently becoming water,
water silently becoming air.”
Every minute this morning seems especially precious.
The docks are empty and silent. Surfaces glitter with frost. There is clarity everywhere. The chaos of summer gringos in garish clothing and their selfish acrimony seems a distant memory.
Jack indulges in the plethora of scents borne on the crisp air. Even I can smell a tang of fish and there is a faint perfume of alder smoke. Millions of herring and needle fish dart and flash beneath the docks. Horned grebes dive after them, filling themselves until they can barely fly. Sea lions bark far in the distance. Everything and everyone else have gone south, or are about to leave. I think of friends on their boats much nearer the equator and wonder about their weather this morning. But, I am alone here and I savour the moment.
Two nights ago, the darkness seemed eternal. Buffeting rain and vicious wind slammed the boat all night. The rigging moaned and shivered. Jack crushed himself in my arms and shared my sleeplessness. Now I bath in the crisp golden peace of perfection and serenity. For now, there is no other place I’d rather be. The day is mine!