Rocking

boating

At the dinner table the other night, I could feel the wake rocking the boat, rocking me. Even though I did not swim in the Gulf and allow the waves to jostle me, I spent some of the afternoon napping in the cradle of the gently swaying boat; this motion reverberated in me on land into darkness.

I snoozed until the sky grew dark and the clouds delivered the 20% of rain the forecast had promised, allocating it all at once and all of the way back to the dock where we needed to return our rented boat.

Dry people in a waterfront restaurant rose from their meals to snap photos (or video!) of us in winter jackets and flooded towels, frantically unloading and seeking refuge from the downpour. (We are probably on Youtube.)

Tonight, thirty minutes out of Phoenix, the airplane’s turbulence stirs this memory in me.

boating2

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