The coffee is hot; the air is cool, the rising sun warm on my shoulder and the water smooth like moss green milk glass.

We probably should think of moving on-but why? To see what we are missing that is ahead of us, so we can compare it with the past we have left? It doesn't matter really, does it? We still have two weeks of food according to the Capt'n. Fresh vegetables disappeared with yesterdays evening feast of pork chops, home made bread and salad. Oh, well. When scurvy sets in maybe we will move on. That and a need to find cell service to send logs to our friends. The feet are not itching yet.

Today we break out the Hookah underwater breathing gear. We crank up the little Honda and pump air down the two 70' long hoses to our regulator. Time to clean the bottom of the boat. This is done by hand with either brush or one foot square scratchy pads. Take off the slime build up, if any. There will be some chiseling to do on limpets. They form a flat hard mole hill of calcium carbonate and other stuff as a small shell. They hold on to any area the paint is off, mostly the running gear consisting of metal struts, props, shafts and rudders. They have to be scraped off with a heavy duty putty knife. Then we will need to change the sacrificial zincs on the shafts and rudder plates.

This will be the Capt'n first time to dive the bottom of the boat. I can tell she is slightly nervous about it so we will start her on the water line and let her get use to working with the gear consisting of mouthpiece withregulator, mask, hose belt possibly a light weight belt, a suction cup to hold on to the bottom of the boat in order to moderate the effects of Newton's Laws 'For every action there is an opposite and equal reaction'. This should be tiring, but cool, kind of fun work. We will play it ear.

Lynn learns and we get some chores finished.

Poor Lynn, she no sooner masters one set of skills than two more come along. Hardly time to smirk over learning the first skill. Oh Capt'n, my Captain.

Our lives are simpler now. They seem more complicated when underway. But simpler when at anchor. Yesterday, after finishing our chores, I sat.

I sat and watched a log partially on shore and the rest floating gently in the water along the edge of the lake, gently swaying to & fro up and down scribing lazy irregular and different arcs in some Arcadian rhythm of its own desire? Was it composing with its gurgle and gentle slaps some ancient rhyme and melody in concert with the lazy water? I watched that log all afternoon. It's still there. The log moved more then I did. Was it watching me with its knotted eyes and curving infectious grin? Were we both
alive sharing the same cosmic musings? These questions are important when you are stoned on life.

Musings from a dysfunctional inner source.

Capt'n Lynnie and Skinwalker