We wake up to frost-covered docks. Fog collects above the Pacific Northwest water, however notoriously cold, is warmer than the air. Sookie thrashes back and forth violently in 40 KT winds. She heels over to the port side and our dinner tumbles to the floor.
The old, frayed dock lines squeak and stretch, and we hope they’ll hold, always prepared to jump out of bed at the sound of anything unusual. Poorly secured halyards slap against the masts of boats whose masters are warm and dry on land, who’ve abandoned their vessels for the winter.
I’ve been lied to, by all those that said winter here “wasn’t that bad,” and it’s only November.
The heater now runs 24/7 (except when it overheats and shuts off at the coldest moments), warming us and the old dog, and keeping the condensation at bay. Night comes on at 5 p.m., the temperature drops and we assume the only available positions in our 4×6 living space–lying down in the quarter berths.
Snuggling into the v-berth at night his arms wrapped around me, he’s snoring thanks to the cold I gave him. My mind drifts into the future; warmer weather, longer days, more adventure. How did summer escape us so quickly? Like an unrequited lover she’ll return only when she wants to, when she’s grown weary of her escapades in the other half of the world.
“Don’t believe everything you read or hear, remember a large part of our world is made up of fiction!!”
~ Victoria Addino