Seagrazing

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A look out my back door. Or is it my front? Of this I've never been sure. A houseboat or floating home? A pier or a dock? Canal or channel? I ponder these decisions over coffee, these choices we can make. Definitions decided upon by somewhat else, accepted or not. I've reached a place where I'm comfortable with my own choices. The other day my horoscope said when the flower withers we sometimes mourn, but the end of the flower makes way for the fruit. There's metaphor there, one I choose to accept, as I sip my coffee and gaze upon the water and its fluid reflections.

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Remnants of The Resistance

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From the deck of our houseboat one can see the remains of Billy's  tugboat that was sunk in the middle of Arquez Canal during the houseboat wars, as part of the resistance against the developers who wanted to build docks, commercialize the waterfront, and boot out the anchor-outs for the high rent crowd. This is the story our friend Stephen tells us, an anchor-out himself since the early 70's. Compromise was reached. The docks were built. But the anchor-outs were allowed to stay and some still call the anchorage their home where they live off the grid in the waters of Richardson Bay, with unparalleled views of the City, unfettered views of life. But at low tide, one still sees the remnants of that resistance long ago from the ringside seat of our houseboat, the Dandelion, where we now float.

Apprenticeship Of A Lifetime

 Recovery  It’s where his best stories arrived without fail, in the shower with warm water running down his back. Later, pencil sharp, notebook open, squeaky clean, he’d chew on the pink eraser and try to remember. The muse just laughed. That’s how he learned the best stories never make the page.                         (Previously published in 50-Word Stories)   

Recovery

It’s where his best stories arrived without fail, in the shower with warm water running down his back. Later, pencil sharp, notebook open, squeaky clean, he’d chew on the pink eraser and try to remember. The muse just laughed. That’s how he learned the best stories never make the page.                         (Previously published in 50-Word Stories)