My Little Skiff
In the course of just ten September days: At her mooring, lashed but unfazed by the outer bands of a major hurricane. Working furiously to disgorge herself of three inches of rain, fallen in a single day in a separate storm that was all but unremarked on shore. And finally headed home for the winter, making the only ripples on a sea of perfect tranquility, at the peak of a nine-foot tide, the buoys and the blades of marsh grass barely keeping their heads under a stark, iconic afternoon Ipswich light.
The changing faces are a tonic, an I Ching for me and the mariner masses.