Tuesday, June 23, 2026, 56.4* F, 95% RH, 0659
Like bailing a sinking ship, I tossed bowls, gallons of water from the caving-in hot tub cover, one clasp snapped loose. No songs heard above the rush of rain. One brave bird sat briefly on the fence, dove at something, flew away. Zsolt wanted to go inside when rain first touched him. He turned. He saw me behind him. He kept going. Everyone gets dried, gets a whole biscuit except me. I get coffee in a red cup, graham crackers, pills, supplements. The giants returned to their room to reclaim warm places. Ruger, a hazard in the dark hall watching, I almost stepped on. Raindrops remain on my glasses. I don’t dry them, nor my hair. I will be bailing again soon.
In the winters of boat living, I never had to bail them although one did drip on my bunk.
Photo: LJ Austin
