Sounds of the calm: dogs ashore barking, waves lapping on the beach, the occasional dinghy motoring by. But mostly there is the lap and swell and sweep of the water against itself, the swish of water against the beach. The seas are calm. The sky is powder blue, populated with purple clouds. Chickpeas brewing in onion and garlic: a scent from below that melds with the salty tang of the air on the tongue. A gentle breeze that is not as warm as you would like. It must be 65 degrees. I am reading on the deck and monitoring the stew below. I’ve set out game hens, a gift from Bel Canto, Dave and Sandy, who departed today. We hunted the wily grouper in chilly waters earlier today, hoping for a fish dinner. A few new boats added themselves to our anchorage today. We will spend the night together.
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