Twenty-four hours later but the same cool breeze. A half hour ago, before the sun settled to the treetops, I was at a picnic table, eating the delicious bowtie pasta with meatballs in red gravy that Monica cooked and froze for me on the weekend. Out on the Choptank River, I saw a familiar boat motoring closer, the Nonesuch Serenity that berths at the outer end of my dock. I followed her progress as she drew near.
And then something stirring happened. Perhaps it is only stirring to a sailor, or only to a sailor eager for his next voyage.
When Serenity neared the zig-zag entrance to the marina, all but the upper half of her mast was blocked from my view. But there was majesty in that spindly pole as the vessel marched purposely up the fairway, heading for her slip.
The mast took aim at the bulkhead to my right without slowing. You didn't need to see anything else to be aware of the vessel's presence. The mast alone, slipping by and through the forest of masts of one hundred or more docked boats, was like the authoritative voice of an unseen leader. Enough to hold one's attention so that, at the end of a productive day, he yearns and is stirred.
The plywood is in place in the V-berth, epoxied and held by screws until the glue dries. Tomorrow, I'll add fiberglass cloth soaked in epoxy, and if I think it's appropriate, I'll re-install Robin's holding tank. I have the wood and the stainless steel strip to repair the rubrail and caprail that was splintered by the winter winds. That bit of carpentry should be completed before I leave some time after noon, ending this week's work on Robin.