s u m m e r
I should have changed awhile ago. It's been warming up here, although today it's raining and the last little chill from winter settles between the metal frames of my glasses and my head giving me a slight headache.
Getting better weather for flying these days. The gusts are calming down and soon we will enter the true summer when the days are longest and the air is not a bother, a friend. Smooth like water on a lake in the early morning.
It used to be I'd wake up those mornings and the boat would be docked from the night before, my ski on the pier and I couldn't wait to eat a couple fried eggs and grits before firing up the Mercury engine and leaving the first ripples of the day. Ducks would take to the sky and I'd smell the gasoline and oil in the light engine. I'd see the rainbow pattern the overflow left on the water, streaming out from behind the boat as I readied the ropes. I'd check my vest, my gloves, make sure we had some drinks in the cooler and myself and whomever was with me that day would head out not to be seen again until the sun began to set and the lake had gone from calm the treacherous and back to calm again.
Past Goat Island, past the cove where we had the slalom course set up, out into the main channel, heading for the marina and changing course by the old railroad bridge. Drift under slow and read the brass plate left by the Army Corps of Engineers, and then it's smooth skiing. Not many boats want to chance the shallow water here and not many have the clearance to sneak under the rail bridge.
I could spend days getting sun burned out here. Drinking cheap beer casting a fishing line, less for the action of fishing and more for the action of something to move my limbs in the heat. To break the silence. To provide a rhythm to accompany the gentle rocking of the boat.
goodnight 4.25.01