Archive

Quiet — stop two paces back, arms loose at my sides, watching her palm flat against the tank wall

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Fever's up. Hands are shaking. That's not okay.

I can walk to the spring.

Quiet — wipe the sweat and grit from my hands and limp back toward the cottage.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Eat what you can. Keep fluids down.

Coast Guard, this is Sorrel Island caretaker station, callsign Kilo-Sierra-Romeo. Medical update on previous mayday. Patient female, 39, cellulitis lower right leg spreading above mid-calf, fever 38.1

Quiet — jenny closes her eyes and leans her head back against the wall, listening to the static of the radio.

38.1 is still a fever.

Engine's clean. Held the load.

Barometer held. Front's moving through, not settling.

Quiet — walk to the bucket, pick up cold pack, carry it to the cottage porch where Jenny is

An hour ago. I'm just warm from the stove.

Quiet — sink slowly to the wet ground and press the back of a shaking hand against my forehead.

Quiet — press the cold pack firmly against the heat of my ankle and pick up the notebook to stare at the sea beet sketches.

It's not enough. It's barely a handful of greens.

I'll get a cool cloth instead. Blankets trap heat. You need the fever down.

(a small, shaky laugh) I suppose the seedlings can wait.

Bringing it up slow. Call it when you see the stream falter.

Quiet — limp over to the seed bed, open the heirloom carrot packet, and press the seeds into the soil in a precise, measured row.

I'm not hungry. way don't use the pry bar on the threads.

Quiet — carry the copper spray bottle out to the seedling trays.

Quiet — walk down to the dock with the drill and the last 150mm through-bolt

Quiet — apply steady pressure, drill through the mortise timber into the sound core beneath, clear chips every few seconds

"A few" is a vague number, Kevin. I'm not losing the peppers.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen, set the kettle to boil, and check the shortwave — power on, volume low, scan Tom's frequency first.

Quiet — drill the third 150mm through-bolt hole at the mooring ring mortise

Drilling the third hole now. Tide's giving us maybe forty minutes.

Quiet — stand still at the shrine, watching her walk away, the stone at my back still warm

Quiet — lean over the edge of the dock, squinting at the purple plants on the reef.

Doubler plate takes the shear. Wood holds the clamp. It’s fine.

Quiet — drill the third 150mm through-bolt hole in the mooring ring mortise, keeping it perpendicular to catch the doubler plate.

Quiet — carefully inspect each cell in the lettuce tray, looking for white fungal fuzz at the soil line.

Breakfast is ready! Come get it while it's hot.

(drill whining, then slowing as the bit breaks through) Next.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen and carefully lift the sea beet leaves from the table to rinse them.

Don't let them tell you 'roughly'. I want a specific window.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen and move the sea beet leaves to a fresh towel to finish de-salting.

(Nods)

Bracket deflects a hair on the starboard bolt. Vibration's there at eighteen hundred, clears at twenty-two. Same as Tuesday. You call it.

Quiet — take a slow bite of mackerel and stare at the radio, listening to the static.

Quiet — return to the sketch, adding a series of tiny, precise stipples to the epidermal layer of the mustard leaf.

Quiet — open a tin of mackerel, fork the fish and oil into the hot skillet, then add the boiled limpets to warm through.

Quiet — drag the spare tarp over the newly planted potato rows and weight the edges down with heavy stones and tool bags.

Front's eating the wind. Birds know. They'll be back screaming when it breaks.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Front's building. Wind'll hit by midnight.