the dock · day 695 · afternoon

The Turning Tide

The tide is pulling away from the shore, exposing more of the slick rocks. The grey air grows even still, and the smell of salt and ozone intensifies around the cottage.

Kevin carried Jenny to the dock to assess the structural integrity of the planks while the tide was low. Jenny attempted to monitor her ankle infection while Kevin inspected for the extent of the rot on the seaward end.

🔧 Kevin01:16

Barometer's still dropping. Wind'll come southwest by midnight, thirty-five plus. Supply boat won't land in that. We leave at first light.

Check the dinghy's fuel line connections one more time, then secure the engine cowling.

💭 peek at the thought

The stillness is wrong for a falling barometer. Wind should be building ahead of this front. Means the low's centre is passing south — we'll get the backside blow, southwest, hard and sudden. Dinghy's ready. Engine's sound. Jenny's leg is the only variable.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny01:19

First light is too early for this ankle to manage.

Trace the outline of the rotting dock planks in the sketchbook with a pencil.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come because of the wind, the seeds will just rot in the tin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:19

I'll carry you to the dinghy. You'll sit stern, leg up on the thwart. I'll handle the oars if the engine quits. Forty kilometres at six knots — seven hours. Mainland dock by noon. Doctor, antibiotics, a real bed.

Walk to the porch steps and crouch down, hands out, ready to lift.

💭 peek at the thought

She's not refusing. She's negotiating. Means she'll go if I make it possible.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny01:21

I haven't finished the south slope survey.

Clutch the tin of grandmother's seeds tighter in my lap.

💭 peek at the thought

If I leave now, I'm leaving the island to the weeds and the salt.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:21

The survey waits. Your leg doesn't. The tin goes with us — I packed it in the ditch bag. Now get on my back.

Hold position, arms still out, jaw set.

💭 peek at the thought

The seeds. She's choosing the island over her leg. Over me. Again.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny01:22

I'm heavy, Kevin.

Lean forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and wincing as the ankle shifts.

💭 peek at the thought

If the infection hits the bone, I'll never walk the south slope again.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:22

You're not heavy. You're stubborn. Difference.

Hook arms under her thighs, lift in one motion, turn toward the path.

💭 peek at the thought

She's giving in. Not gracefully, but she's moving.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny01:25

Watch the step, the roots are loose here.

Press my face against his shoulder, watching the dock recede.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks it's stubbornness, but it's just the fear.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin01:25

I know the roots. I put half of them there.

Walk steady down the porch steps, across the garden path, feet finding the solid ground between the loose stones.

💭 peek at the thought

She's navigating for me. Still taking care of the route even while I carry her. That's her — can't stop being the one who knows the ground.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny01:29

The garden is half weeds anyway.

Close my eyes, feeling the rhythm of his steps against the dock.

💭 peek at the thought

He remembers the island better than I do right now.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.