October 31, 2020

Late September 2020

Scooter, decked out in his red PFD, paces on PineAweigh’s bow as she slowly pulls away from Anderson Island. 

“What is THAT?” He worries as he works his way port to starboard, starboard to port, peering at the water below. “What is that?”

“That” would be calm water. That would be what Scooter has rarely seen— flat, black water, not a bird on it; so very still that it appeared from the bow of the boat to be, What? A wall beneath the boat? Worried. Truly, Scooter is. Is it the night sky brought down and placed beneath us? Are we upside down? 

Scooter is bothered by it. He needs a ripple, a twig floating, a fish to jump, a seal to break the surface, to snort, scattering seawater, but Scooter gets nothing of what he needs—reassurance.

That, however, is what his people provided until, finally, we rounded the SW corner of Anderson Island, until, finally, we reach Case Inlet where a wispy wind worked the water into little ripples, shattering the mirror. Ah! Now Scooter could see that All is Well; Scooter could relax, climb the bow stairs to the flybridge level, stretch out with his chin and body flat, and assure his people, “Don’t worry. It’s water. All is well.” 

I’m thinking about reassurance, that it is one thing people can provide each other until, finally, we (who are peering over so many edges) do truly round the corners that have us pacing port to starboard, seeing what we’ve never seen before, asking, “What is that?”