Sitting on the transom step, just above the words "Made in the USA," I sketched this marina scene. This was a chores kind of trip and we only left the dock to move the boat to its new slip space, which was fine with me because the wind was up and handling lines and fenders was a challenge.
Sometimes the boat and I have a stare down. It towers above me like a two-story building. I don't back down. Only my laughter will break the spell of a good staring contest.
Before I get too frustrated with the boat, I take a walk, and listen to the sound of the loon. He is alone, fishing near the boat ramp, and calling out his lonely song. I whisper that I understand. And I do.
