Rising Tides

The winds of wtf? and clouds of confusion that blew through much of my re-entry during April and May seem to have passed.

Meet PortFolio (P.F.), who would love to rock you to sleep when you come to visit.

I bought a boat three weeks ago.

She is, like her kiwi land-cousin Xena, vintage 1993, with solid bones and a livable floor plan. She fulfills a promise I made to myself, and she has already taken me to new places. Even standing still (though she is constantly in motion), she is an inspiring and patient teacher.

Mostly, I am grateful. Sometimes still giddy. Occasionally worried. Infrequently afraid. More and more, I find an easy peace in her gentle motion. We are becoming friends.

A month ago, just one month after my return to the U.S., I was visiting Tia and she asked me what I missed most from my winter in New Zealand. Surprised to hear my voice crack as I answered, I replied that mostly I missed the stars, the feeling of the air and being in nature every day (as opposed to looking at it through a window, or not at all).

And that, I suppose, is mostly what PF (my nickname for her given name, PortFolio) brings me as we rock on the water, surrounded by sky.

I am enchanted as the tides grow, prompting me to learn about spring lines and knots. I look forward to Friday's full moon which I hear will bring the water up over the finger docks. 

Astonished by this push-pull dance of moon and sea, I find solace in the sound of masts ringing like a bell choir, and I cannot stop thinking about the tiny crab that scuttled out from the nest of my bow lines and fell overboard this morning.

I'm most grateful to be back. 

The view from the front porch, and my green heron neighbor.