There’s an empty barge being pushed toward the inner harbor no doubt heading for the dry dock. The forward lookout, hands jammed into his pockets, hunches into the unseasonable sharp edged breeze.
Two trawlers with southing in mind chug their way toward the Key Bridge. Each captain is allowing hope for calm seas to overwhelm the reality of the weather forecast. The adrenaline rush of getting underway has clouded their judgment as it does even experienced cruisers. They might get their ass kicked, but will find a gentle anchorage and sit it out having completed the task of getting underway.
The chilling air fosters a stirring within. It brings a rush of mental checks that winds through a pre-departure list of things to do, culling, sorting, and deleting items now less important to the goal of leaving. The urgent mental lists vaporize and reform like puffy white clouds into an emotional yearning. The yearning flows out of my soul and, in transit, evolves as a physical desire in my feet to move on. My feet are itching. The door on Baltimore is closing even as the sun breaks the horizon. The piratical urges to be aboard the FEARLESS are dwindling rapidly.
My feet are feeling the sands of the Bahamas. I want that tee shirt.
Capt. Bones
USS FEARLESS
AKA Wayne & Lynn Flatt
MV SKINWALKER
