Calm tongiht, after a spate of days with wind in the evenings. As clouds moved in from the southwest, where they always come from, I sat on my deck and drank chamomile tea and read a book.

Big, existential sigh of comfort.

It almost felt like a summer evening. The important thing was that my heart, my guts felt this. The air was warm, yes, but my body was relaxed in a way that it can't be until my spirit can be convinced of the fundamental natural peace of the outdoors.

Just as it got too dark to read, I was done with my book. The tea was finished. The clouds rolled abeam of my home, and then across my bow, and onward past the starboard rail toward the city.

Three Bonaparte gulls skittered just above the water. So that's what a Bonaparte gull's cry sounds like, I thought. Hmmm. Nice.

And then a heron croaked by. All is well at Port-au-Patois.