Why does this glorious essential plague me so? Often its tip-toe sound lulls me into a blissful sleep. But today the edge of gray-blue silver drops cut to an area of my thought that is vulnerable.
So much on my mind makes the visitor seem intusive. Why now? I am heavy with a need to make decisions, which seemingly made, won't have any impact on the course of events. The visitor challenges my significance.
Maybe the challenge is not as first perceived. As I ride the storm, the headlines of the paper on the settee ebb and I concentrate on the integrity of our ties, securing the spring line to comfort the craft.
The ketch no doubt would have suffered no real harm. Yet now I realize my wet encounter found me decisive and directed. I took no time to ponder the what-ifs or what-mights.
Lines cleated for life's storms.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Recently found on a piece of paper that had been crumpled up and then flattened out again, Jane wrote this not long after 9/11: