Miss Leah, bobs around her anchor in the lee of an island
with dark pines and bare limbs against the flash flickering sky.
Time for a swim before heating tortillas in our one-pot kitchen.
We eat beneath the kerosene anchor light's yellow glow
as the moon peaks out between clouds.
A thunderhead threatens in the west but never approaches.
Sleeping in the cockpit means maybe waking up wet.
But rain doesn't come and morning is bright and clear
Smell dark coffee and hear the blue heron croak and fly away.
Lean back and watch the sun come up over big conifers
with just the right wind for sailing.
wow. nice picture that you painted there! i sure am anxious for my first night at anchor.. spent quite a few at the dock, but i suspect it won't be quite the same.. if the weather holds, it will happen this weekend! jt
yeah. home on the water. 8-)
Thank you for the poetry