Sheltering from the Surge

Line's clean. No chafe at the fairlead, no fuzz at the splice. Good. Water's higher than last week — spring tide on top of the surge. Dock's holding. Greenheart sister plank's solid. North piling shim hasn't moved. But if the barometer keeps dropping and the wind backs further west, the fetch across the bay gets ugly. Should run another stern spring to the seaward bitt before full dark.

Second spring's on. Snug but not singing — enough give for the surge. Knots seated. The half-inch three-strand from the crate is clean rope, no salt rot. Dinghy's tied four ways now: bow, stern, two springs. She'll ride it out. Barometer's 988 and steady per the noon read, but the sky's bruising purple west-southwest. Wind's still east but fading. That shift'll come after dark. Should check Jenny's ankle before I lose the light, then key the radio at 2000. She'll be at the garden or the cottage porch.

Garden's empty. Tools leaned against the wall — trowel, fork, the spade I made. Seed trays under the tarp. No Jenny. She's probably on the porch or inside. Ankle's been bad three days. She won't sit still for long. Rain's spitting harder now, big drops that hit flat. Smells like ozone and wet stone. Porch light's on.