Sunday, Aug. 4/2013

Tired.  Long weekends are too long around here.   Love to sleep but the boats around me are wide awake.   They’ll all be gone tomorrow, and Midden Harbour will be home again.  Home again, clippity clop.  Tired.

At least no one will come knocking on the bulkhead looking for beer at 3am.  Imagine they’ve all heard by now about the guy who tried to come aboard last night.  Butkus went to greet him.  Heard the splash then the yelling then his buddies hauling back up on the dock.  Silly bugger.  Still, be a story for him to tell when he gets back to the city.

Sleep now.  Make it come by picturing a long, close hauled tack.  Precise set of the sails, whistling wind, tilt of the deck, all in balance.  Easy to let go.

Good night, boy.