Seduction at Salt Run

The young man stands on the Salt Run pier,

Facing east, waiting for the sun to rise

From just below the horizon.

While he waits, the last of the morning mist

Still clings to the eastern dunes,

And nearby, two ketches are moored

In water that lies still, for the tide has only now

Begun its slow outgoing pull.

Soft pastel light spreads across the surface,

Doubling the hulls, masts, and rigging,

The two boats show their sterns now

As the tide’s pull strengthens.

It is as if they are struggling to break free,

As if, once freed, they would come about,

Raise their sails and make their way

To the inlet and out to sea,

Free to roam the coast at their leisure.

The sun now risen,

He walks back to the car.

He best be on his way to work.

He holds an image of a ketch in his mind,

It is as if he is standing at its wheel,

As if he is steering it

toward the inlet and out to sea,

Free to roam the coast at his leisure.

Saint Augustine Harbor – March 7, 2016, 7:00 a.m.

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Here is the Seven A.M. Harbor Report: There is currently an almost slack, incoming tide with light winds out of the northwest and some cloud cover that will clear later this morning. The water and air temperatures are both at 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Aside from water slapping against hulls and the unpeopled docks and the occasional splash of a fish, the marina is quiet. The sun has cleared the horizon, freshening the starboard sides of the moored sailboats at the harbor’s southern end. Two pelicans land in untroubled waters near the lead schooner there, and one is filled with a sense of peaceful confidence that all is as it should be.

Fishing on Poncho Creek

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I haven’t had a bite for maybe ten minutes now, and I am visited by an annoying grass-is-greener feeling as I gaze across the marsh at that house there on Robinson’s Creek. You can generally find some black drum under that dock behind the sailboat, and there is a steep drop-off in front of that boat where you might just luck upon a slot red.

The house looks minutes away from where I sit, but, in fact, I cannot set a direct course there because the marsh between us is too shallow, even for my pram’s light draft. I’d have to row back out to the Tolomato, then up north to Robinson’s mouth before heading back into that creek’s interior, and all this against an outgoing tide. It would take maybe forty-five minutes, believe it or not, and I’d drop anchor at the dock at about slack tide, at which point I might as well head back home across the river because the fishing would be over for the day. No, I’d best seek my peace and good fortune right here, right now.

Seduction, January 21, 2016, 7:00 a.m.

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On at least one star-filled morning each month, I can be found elbow-supported, wooden-railing leaning at the end of the Lighthouse Pier where I gaze toward the sand-duned line along the southernmost end of Salt Run. There, by the light of a sun that has yet to crest those sandy ridges, night’s quiet transformation into day occurs so swiftly that my brain can but register its changes as stop motion animation: changes in the sky where yellow intrudes upon dark charcoals, diluting them into steely blues; changes that brighten and polish smooth patches of water so that channel markers and mooring floats might reflect upon their states; and changes that shear night’s veil guarding a secured ketch till the boat’s emerging beauty seduces me once again.