Morning. 14 July. 2018.
He snores, my little dog, as he lies sleeping on his
rug. Dawn is still an hour away so he’s entitled to sleep, but I’m sitting up
in my bunk looking out over the water, watching the ripples distorting the
reflection of the lights on the hills above.
I don’t mind his gentle, rhythmic rumble, I imagine he’s really saying to me,
“I’m here boss, you’re not alone, if there is a threat I’ll be there with teeth
bared barking in my best don’t mess with us, voice. Don’t feel lonely boss, I’m here”.
And I don’t. My litle ship, my floating home is rising
with the tide, its like being lifted by the slow heartbeat of the world. It’s a
big tide this morning, one that covers all of the mudbanks, bringing clear
ocean water in even this far up the estuary, changing the colour from brown to
grey green.
Its too early yet to think of what the day might hold,
the planning of the day, the jobs that need doing, what is urgent and what
might wait. It’s a time to relax, to watch the hypnotic march of the tiny
waves, listen to the birds awakening and proclaiming, “I’m here, this is my
place, I’m here, listen to my song”.
There is some pale light above the horizon now, being
winter its late, but winter sometimes brings a clarity of light that we don’t
see in the warm haze of summer and while the sun is close to its morning
appearance the stars still shine, bright and sharp. Its going to be a good day
today, I feel very privileged to live here on the river, afloat, so close to
nature and the natural things around me.
The water is not my friend, nor is it my enemy, it is
impersonal in its actions, but I am content when with it, close to it, borne up
by it.
Living here has me close to the moods of the sea. It
can be peaceful, gentle, filled with promise of reward. It can be angry,
threatening, capricious, or playful. But its rarely the same for long, the
constant change is enough to hold my attention always. There is peace here,
watching the water is enough to so occupy me that the world of mankind does not
trouble me. I understand those for whom long voyages out on the ocean call so
strongly, but here in the shelter of the river I can have both. Waking here is
a wonderful thing, so near, and yet so far.
Its light now, my little dog still snores, but he’s
muttering under his breath, grumbling as he wakes. In a moment we’ll go outside, and we’ll both
look out over the water before we walk off together to see what the day has in
store for us, there are rats that need catching, both for him and me.
