Oil on Wood
The day began grey and we are still socked in. 6 p.m. looks a lot like 6a.m. did. As the sailor always says, "Nothing good ever comes from the East." And that is where what little wind we have has been coming from. Cold, wet, grey, fog. But things are looking up. I've lit a fire and dinner is cooking. Despite the weather and ferocious mosquitoes, Rosie has had her evening walk to the beach and is curled up on the kitchen rug. There was a moment this afternoon when I passed by the back bedroom where one of the sailors had left his bed turned down in anticipation of his return. The sky had lightened briefly and the room was filled with warmth and the promise of their homecoming.