The Boat Dock
The wooden planks beneath my feet were weathered yet firm so I can only explain my tendency to walk in anything but a surefooted manner on the fact that everything around me was bobbing and rocking in the afternoon sun. The aroma escaping from the wood told of blistering summers, unforgiving winters and constant dampness. I knew I had arrived at the end of my journey when I could walk no farther. Loitering, I began to drift off to the sounds and senses that only a summer day like this could bring. Laughter was intermittently broken by voices whose tones reflected a certain laziness that only a place that this can inject in even the most dedicated workaholic’s soul. Suddenly I was surrounded by the birds that call this place home. They hung in the air, riding the currents of a summer breeze, their heads move quickly, left to right, right to left. They searched for that next morsel to be stolen from an unsuspecting visitor.
The regulars encouraged their piracy by providing offerings. The reflected sunlight danced and weaved and rolled in a fantastic light show on the nearby surface until it was broken by a passing intruder who was completely unaware of the dazzling display that he just interrupted. The wind was picking up and the motion of my surroundings increased with each warm gust. I walked back down the wooden path, rocking, first on my left foot and then on my right until I was back on earth.
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