Writers Interlude

The cold dew beneath my feet chills me, as I walk the deck in the stillness of the morning. Collecting my lantern, I pause to overlook the quiet anchorage. Boats are still, no movement or noise, other than the occasional song of a loon. I fall into the warmth of the cockpit, and watch as the sun rises over the pines, and illuminates the morning mist. The sun slowly warms my face as it changes from orange to yellow, chasing away the chill of the morning. Like time, the river passes. It flows beneath me, past me, as I stay firmly anchored, resisting its pull. I am here to enjoy this moment, this beauty, at this time. The river will flow, the birds will sing, and the sun will warm another face, long after my anchor’s been pulled.