(In his mind's eye he owned a small aluminum fishing boat, which he took out when he needed time to harbor a pleasant image of mindfulness when he found himself dwelling on something that got him down.)
He'd hooked his old aluminum fishing boat to his truck
and taken off at dusk the night before,
and found room at a small inn, where he could listen to
those small waves, and they'd listen to him. too
To make this trip pleasant, he had to do a thing or two
He'd have to be up early, early in the morning to do
So there he was out hunting--before breakfast--
but not coffee, that was true
In the early morning light of that sleepy Carolina fishing village
along the river to the sea (of these only a few remain),
he took a walk along the docks and looked about
for what he'd need to make a go of this last-minute trip.
There are a few chores necessary to this periodic quest
for a peaceful respite from his daily far-too-normal world.
One was launching his little boat
alone in the cold morning of each day,
Another was the daily grind of lining up for fuel
to fill his little outboard, with those over-sized behemoths--
the cigarette boats that fill the waters these days,
sounding like denizens of truck stops, what a pain.
The remedies he sought this early morning were two
a little space to dock, to tie up and rest when he'd need to,
and a couple of those small red tanks to carry a bit of fuel.
If he used it sparingly, he'd have gas enough for a day or two.
Along the dock, he saw some spaces that might work.
But he kept finding there was no one to tell his story to
Then he came across a fair-skinned woman,
likely half his age who sat right down to listen.
With a bit of
almost free of charge in fact, just a little space
along the stretch of dock she ran
there, along the river front.
He mentioned almost in passing,
his distaste for his next task, floating over
to that fuel pump, to fill the smallish tank
of his old outboard motor, over and over.
She nodded sympathetically, and told him
if he'd invest a bit of time and muscle to refill on his first visit
all those tanks lined up there against her stand,
she'd lend him two at her special rate--free of charge in fact.
Back in his room at the inn,
he made an entry in his journal,
more to Christina than to himself:
"Good buy--dock and tanks"
(Good bye, doc--and thanks)
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