Its morning in the marina

Its morning in the marina.  The sun has already warmed the pilothouse. We open the doors and windows.

The sounds of the marina are clear through the quiet wet air. Water is gurgling from the shower sump on a boat next to us. The cruisers in a boat on the other side are congenially sharing pieces of news to each other from the local paper over coffee. He burnt his lip on the edge of a ceramic cup, she giggles the admonishment of caring. The dragging scrape of filp-flops along the dock announces Hojo, in her flannel jama's with shower kit in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, reluctantly easing her way to the shower room for morning ablutions. Sometimes she stays in the little room longer than others would like. Ray, the owner, brings out the leaf-blower and lays it down, probably realizing it is too early for the noise. He walks the docks instead checking lines and angle of boats in the water looking for hints of danger or a bilge pump not working properly. The burgler alarm at the tiki bar next to the boat next to us goes off suggesting the first employee has arrived to set up for a busy day of serving beer and food to those sitting out on the deck in the warm sun cooled just right by a zephyr of a breeze that the air pressure overhead will not allow to build today. Small fish break water next to the boat, a comorant greedilly ducks beneath the water seeking what comorants seek, while a lone Brown Pelican glides on a pressure wave created by pinching air between him and the water only inches below him, his wing tips dimple the water on the down stroke. Unseen runners on the road behind us hidden by the stand of mangroves talk in passing with little bumps in their voice when a heel hits the pavement. A scratchy throated dove coos in response to the vulgar grind of a garbage truck mashing its load with its compactor. The man on the back whistles to the driver and the intermittent backup warning tone attempts to imitate the dove. Lynn tells me it is time for me to help color her hair.

Nothing is happening this morning, but morning.

Bones