Old Boat
I can feel the morning tide coming in, lifting my hull effortlessly out of the mud. Tiny creatures are clinging more tightly to my sides as we all begin to sway back and forth. This briny water is cold and opaque. The sea is pushing it’s swollen mass ashore. All around me seems calm and serene, yet beneath the surface I feel the tickle of fish. The familiar rhythm of this ritual lulls me to sleep. Then thoughts of the noonday rouse me suddenly. Every old boat knows when the dawn is coming. “Soon,” says the hungry seagull floating by.
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