Bearing the ills I have.

Where I will work the blue herons walk warily away as you approach. After a few steps that indicate your path collides with theirs, they reluctantly take flight and make the short hop to an adjacent dock. The accompanying screech they make, as they resign to the effort of flight, reminds me of early Hollywood “B” films depictions of prehistoric earth. I can imagine early sound engineers, mandated by their directors to give voice to the pterodactyls, wading down by the docks and recording the terrifying shrieks of the Blue Heron. I arrive at my destination, my boat. Upon arriving at work, I will lay down in the captain's cabin . The swells of the bay gently rock the boat. The interruptions arrive not at predictable intervals, but randomly from swells that have been redirected by pylons, or spontaneously generated by passing boats. And I will not see them, either, as I lay there waiting for relaxation to overtake me. At first, the body fights these impetuous actions of nature, and you quickly struggle to return yourself to your previously unmolested position. Yet, after a few moments the body is reassured that no harm will come, and relinquish itself to the will of the bay. The body will roll with the waves and jerk when the boat ties jerk against the dock. Yet, soon resistance will no longer be offered. With this admission of total submission, astonishingly, inspiration begins to fill the nostrils. Effervescent bubbles of glorious thought burst upon the cortical surfaces. I smell the salt air, as if for the first time. Ambient sound that were whirled around the bay begins to differentiate. The constant din of the seagulls become a symphonic background. They beckon to one another, and quarrel with one another. Birds I do not know the name of, except that I call them telegraph birds because their constant clicks of Morse code, fly-by constantly, periodically dive bombing my boat. And then the undeniable cry of the osprey pierces my consciousness. I spring up, hopefully, to steal a peak at this majesty that rules the basin. There he is, on the mast of a neighboring boat, tearing at his catch while disdainfully ignoring pestering seagulls. Light shines brilliantly on the water and reflects off the polished chrome of watercraft. I am thankful I have an awning to protect my eyes. I squeeze into the tight table and bench that serves as dining table, desk and entertainment center. To myself again I promise to make future adjustments with regarding to my comfort. Pay-for-wireless is broadcast over the harbor to service this community of unlawfully residing boat dwellers; I open my laptop and log on. The cell phone is placed carefully next to the computer. I turn my head all the way behind me and check the water that has been set to boil. I take care that the boiling water evenly covers the freshly ground French roast, and am careful that the water extracts equally form all the available grounds as the cup fills with the stimulating elixir. I return to my space, that is really in the same space as everything else, and comment to myself, like I always do and always will, that fresh brewed coffee smells so damn good. I then start my work which will runneth-over from between the walls of my head, flooding the hull of ship and eventually spill into the bay of the ocean.