I was woken from a sound sleep by the insistent beeping of the anchor alarm and sprang to my feet. If this little reality show was sufficiently funded to have pen cameras mounted around the cabin, you would all be watching and saying, “All that back stuff? Must have been faked.” “Yeah, these shows are never as real as they seem.”
By the time my heart had a chance to pump blood up to the new brain altitude; I realized that it was flat calm. A glance at the GPS showed that the tide had simply carried me out to the other limit of the generous scope I’d set.
Dawn was just breaking. A pair of loons were laughing and I could see a crabber making the rounds of his pots through the companionway, his navigation lights still on and reflecting faintly off the water. An osprey flew by with a fish in his claws. Birds were singing in trees covered with new leaves.
The only discordant note in my universe was the sound of corporate propaganda blaring from right wing talk radio on the crabbers boat. That is now gone and sun is pouring through the portlights against the teak on the opposite cabin side in a way that makes the imagery in the Joni Mitchell song seem much more vivid than in all the decades since I first heard it.
I’m not minding being woken from a sound and restful sleep one bit.
The conditions that set off my anchor alarm:
By the time my heart had a chance to pump blood up to the new brain altitude; I realized that it was flat calm. A glance at the GPS showed that the tide had simply carried me out to the other limit of the generous scope I’d set.
Dawn was just breaking. A pair of loons were laughing and I could see a crabber making the rounds of his pots through the companionway, his navigation lights still on and reflecting faintly off the water. An osprey flew by with a fish in his claws. Birds were singing in trees covered with new leaves.
The only discordant note in my universe was the sound of corporate propaganda blaring from right wing talk radio on the crabbers boat. That is now gone and sun is pouring through the portlights against the teak on the opposite cabin side in a way that makes the imagery in the Joni Mitchell song seem much more vivid than in all the decades since I first heard it.
I’m not minding being woken from a sound and restful sleep one bit.
The conditions that set off my anchor alarm:
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