the lost man chronicles
75. breaking rippled glass

With each dip of the oar I felt as if I were breaking rippled glass. I was befuddled by the fact that at this late morning hour I was still utterly alone. How could it be that others were not flocking to experience majesty? My privileged solitude was a mystery to me.

Like a hungry shark, I broke a white crest of spume before me and made the trip to the bridge this time at an unprecedented clip.

Upon my return trip the world began to stir about me, the horizon cleared enough so that strips of marshland started to appear, the gulls which had given me the evil eye slowly started to leap from their perches to scavenge, a few boats emerged from their somnolent ports to pollute the precious air with their putters, and the din of other people began to utter civilized cacophony.

It was than that I knew it was time to quit this Godspeed and paddle fast back home into the folds of my consoling cocoon.

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