Saturday, April 19, 2025, 46.5*
Nothing splashed on the wet deck or the tarp covering plastic bins. The three ventured into their fenced-in land, Zayne looking towards the pond as if watching something. Thursday, I thought I saw the Great Blue Heron but could not distinguish him through my camera lens. Friday, the second time we went out, our commotion sent the Heron into flight. I didn’t have the camera then. Looking into bare trees, I see no signs of a nest, at a minimum of 20” it would be hard to miss.
Mist does not splash; we didn’t see it: the subtle version of walking in the rain getting soaking wet. A small craft advisory has been posted. Gale Watch begins Sunday. I dried the three thinking about sleep, about writing, about towering waves, oars sucked from the dinghy, just making it to the cabin securing the hatch as a wave broke over the stern off Atlantic City New Jersey bouncing us off a sand bar disconnecting the rudder. On many nights nursing a baby I had been rocked to sleep by the ocean.
When a gentle south wind began to blow, they saw their opportunity; so
they weighed anchor and sailed along the shore of Crete. Before very long,
a wind of hurricane force, called the Northeaster, swept down from the island.
The ship was caught by the storm and could not head into the wind;
so we gave way to it and were driven along.
Acts 27: 13-15 NIV
Photo: Chris Austin
