Waiting for my ride

Sometimes I’m the only car waiting at the landing, and the whole ferry comes across the water to collect me. There is something wonderfully disproportionate about it—this enormous vessel arriving, for the moment, just for one tired person.

By then my body is usually spent from a day of yard work. There is a little less of that work each summer, though, as the island slowly becomes less of a site and more of a place. On the evening crossing, the reward is the sunset from the water: a quiet transition between what I’ve been making and the world I’m returning to.