The Little Boat . . .

A little boat's waiting for me down at the shore in P'town right now . . . but it's still days 'til I get there.

Three days to be exact. I should be grateful for the short wait, but I'm not. Laundry, packing, changing oil, selling two goats to buy enough gasoline to get up there.

And what about my surfboard? I haven't used it in 30 years, but I just might, so I better tie that to the roof of the car. Not to mention the industrial-strength fan, bedding and cooking utensils, Comedy and Tragedy masks in case someone decides we need some theater . . . A Greek chorus perhaps?

I'll pick up my children in Philly, my aunt in Poughkeepsie, and my sister's cat (see the sad story about Buzz the Rocket Cat's untimely demise last week).

There's something about driving into P'town and seeing the dunes all around. That's when I get out of my car and start walking. It happens every year.

Up early for my workshop, long walks with an old friend from high school, writing late into the night . . . I'm there.