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January 26, 2018

the storm-pelted glass is dirty here high above the salish sea, olympic mountains barely discernible in the distance, blighted young evergreens a too-pale shade peeking up over antique leaded windowframe, white foam of agitated breakers sketch contour of shoreline below. i'm a guest in this house, awed by the extravagance and proprietary feeling that comes with a commanding view. at least it's warm. there are worse places to be. like out there, tossed on the cold grey waters.

buying a beat-up sailboat was either the dumbest or smartest thing i've ever done. maybe both. it just sits there unused in its slip and i worry myself at night wondering how badly it's fairing due to neglect. today i checked on it for the first time since september and am happy to report it didn't require much bailing, but the seals on the deadlights are leaky and i only made it worse last summer with a half-assed repair. the moss and whatever else had accrued in the cracks was pretty watertight; after i scraped them clean is when i ran into problems. then there was the attempted break-in right after i'd purchased a used outboard motor that i stored in the cabin. luckily they failed, but because i was out of town when it happened, i needed a friend to go deal with it, at which time i asked him to also tape some plastic over the window i'd "fixed." this, then, is the result: a mini terrarium in the humid space between visqueen and starboard aperture. the landscape i described was a lie--or perhaps it's kinder to call it a flight of imagination? did you see the sound, skin prickling at the prospect of a darkened horizon? or were you on to me from the start, a skeptic after my own heart?

it really did rain a lot today, puddles swamped entire sidewalks. reflections are dreams. the day sank in, beautiful; surreal.