The sailors bouquet is made of paintbrushes, varnish, whipping twine and blue masking tape. I’ve got a pile of supplies that a few of my life’s units bought for me, a long list of this and that I and a few very serious decisions to make about my steering system. I dont know if I still have a heater or not but one way or another Sookie will have a heat source right after water and fire and hopefully before the winter that I have no plans of enduring arrives.
I packed up my pack, pulled the tent and nothing was left but her footprint, a sign of me having rested my weary head long enough for the outside world to change and die while beneath my bed of grass a green reminder will slowly fade away like the days of our lives.
Sookie got a quick rinse but tomorrow she will get her first proper bath in quite some time as will I, we are both beginning to smell like yesterday’s trash. I sail vicariously with Mary as she crosses the South Pacific on her Falmouth cutter, I am landlocked but now for the first time I am seeing all the good in having Sookie in the yard, at least for now. I miss her cozy berth, having logged over two thousand nights in my crappy down sleeping bag I am in desperate need of a new one, the cold nights are a reminder of many things other than the simple fact that I am freezing in July. Fall is now closer than spring, the days are noticeably shorter and it’s time to pick from my bouquet and paint some magic so I can get to the real task at hand.
From the log of Sookie, land locked. The fog is slowly rising, from my Perch in the boatyard I notice that Sookies compass is pointed due south, she is speaking to me.