the boat fell silent on the waters. the engine cut and the rudder remained true.
all eyes affixed on the faraway docks, and dreamed of mooring for more than one night.
peering down the length of the vessel, we could see that there were few in the harbor. though we did not know the land, or from whom to purchase the stay, we glided in.
slowly the shoreline opened up with the morning fog burning off, revealing old men sitting like hungry pelicans against the rails. plumes of smoke coming from their collective pipes emulated the smokestack billowing of the chowderhouse now in plain sight in the morning sunbeams.
we felt our constitution tighten up, hopes for a better passage lifting, and the deep relief of rest almost at hand, as we floated into the slips.
high five old peeps, even if they're far away. it's good to touch bases.