August 1, 2008
My mind keeps drifting back to thoughts about a boat, long and slender, with cabins of lacquered pine. I get jib and sail in mind, on days like these. Summer days, when the ground canít move, make me ache a little for something I have never experienced: to awake to swayings and gusts (with an "h," breathed like ghust) for breakfast. Sometimes it takes this slender shape, other times an older goal, the houseboat-life. I would name it Lyle, and love it; I wouldn't have a horse, but I'd be a sea rustler. I would go out on the ocean.