Time Capsule, 1997

Notes to Myself from the Bot­tom of the World, 

They have been fish­ing since sun­rise, teth­ered to a weath­ered grey post faintly tipped with white. It is sup­posed to show the deep water chan­nel. The tide is flow­ing out, and their old launch bumps her keel on the mud bot­tom. They has­ten to loosen the moor­ing rope, push off into the tug­ging cur­rent which hur­ries them away from famil­iar land­marks. Soon the launch sweeps around a bend, still drift­ing. Some­how they have to kick over the motor, get some steer­age, fig­ure out where the hell they are going. Now, a lit­tle later, my par­ents have passed the mouth of the estu­ary, bob­bing in a tiny sil­hou­ette above the long, cold ocean swells. It is time to won­der about my own jour­ney.

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