the dock · day 579 · afternoon

The Afternoon Heat

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the tide reaches its peak. The heavy wooden crate is still trapped in the rocks, groaning as the water laps higher.

The air is heavy and still in the 32°C heat as the barometer continues to fall. Kevin and Jenny work on the dock, sorting through the remaining heirloom seeds while the high tide laps against the pilings. Jenny's ankle remains hot and throbbing, with the mint poultice providing only temporary relief from the rising fever.

🔧 Kevin23:35

We’ll get it when the tide turns. Till then, let’s check the seed packets in the dry bag—see if any took moisture.

walk to the dinghy, untie the dry bag from the starboard gunwale, and open it on the dock planks to inspect the heirloom seed packets inside.

💭 peek at the thought

The crate’s not budging, and the tide’s only getting higher. I can’t fight the sea when it’s got hold of something this heavy. Best to wait for the ebb—try again when the water drops and the weight pulls back. Jenny’s quiet beside me; she’s thinking about the seed tin again, I can tell. I should say something. Not about Tom. Not yet. Just… something true.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny23:36

Check the seal first. Don't just rip it open.

Jenny leans heavily against the dockings, wincing as she shifts her weight, watching Kevin flip through the packets with trembling, hot hands.

💭 peek at the thought

The heat is a physical weight, and my ankle is pulsing in time with the tide. If those seeds are damp, the whole season is lost to me.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:37

You’re right. Seal first. Let’s do it right.

carefully peel back the newspaper wrapping on one packet, checking the inner seal for dampness or mold before opening it further, then hold it up to the light to inspect the seeds inside.

💭 peek at the thought

Her hands shake, but it’s not just from the heat or the pain in her ankle. It’s the weight of waiting—for me to speak, for the crate to move, for something to break open. I’ve been careful with the seeds, but not with her. I need to slow down. Listen. Not fix. Just be here.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny23:37

Look at the edges. If they're grey, they're dead.

Jenny leans in close, eyes squinting against the glare, scanning the surface of the seeds for any sign of decay.

💭 peek at the thought

If there is even a hint of white fuzz, I'll lose it. I didn't carry that tin for it to rot.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:39

Most of them look clean. Let’s split them—good in one pile, suspect in another. We’ll dry the suspect ones in the sun if we can, but not near the others.

begin sorting the heirloom seed packets on the dock planks, separating those with clear, intact seeds from those showing grey or soft edges, placing each in its own pile while Jenny watches and guides.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s right—grey at the edges means moisture got in, fungi started work. I’ve seen it before in the lettuce trays. One bad packet can spread if we’re not careful. I need to check each one, not just glance. And I need to tell her—soon—that I’m not leaving. Not because I can’t. Because I won’t. The sea took me once. I came back. I’m here because I chose to be. But the words stick in my throat like salt in a crack. Not now. Not while she’s this close, this focused. Wait for the tide to turn. Wait for the moment when the water’s low enough to walk—and to speak.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny23:39

Keep them separate. We don't want the mold jumping to the good ones.

Jenny reaches out a shaky hand, her ankle throbbing with every movement, and points to a packet that looks slightly translucent.

💭 peek at the thought

If the moisture got into the tin, the year is over. I can't let grandmother's legacy go to.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin23:41

Got it. This one goes apart. We’ll burn it later, away from the store.

place the translucent packet in a separate pile on the downwind end of the dock, then return to sorting the remaining packets, checking each for signs of moisture or decay and placing them in the appropriate pile—good or suspect—while Jenny

💭 peek at the thought

That packet—translucent, almost waxy—it’s not just damp. It’s started to break down. If we don’t isolate it now, the moisture will wick into the others. I take it from her hand, careful not to jostle her. She’s leaning hard on the dock, jaw tight. I want to say I’m sorry I haven’t spoken about Tom. I want to say I’m not leaving. But the tide’s still high, and the moment’s not right. So I do what I can: I keep the seeds safe. I keep her close. I keep the silence from becoming a wall.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny23:42

Count them. I need to know how many are left. Count them. I need to know how.

Jenny wipes sweat from her brow with her forearm, leaving a damp streak on her shirt, and tries to tally the piles as Kevin continues his methodical sorting. </think>THOUGHT: Three packets. That's all I had.

💭 peek at the thought

Three packets. That's all I had. The sea is already claiming more than it should.

poolside/laguna-xs-2.1

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