As routines go, the one I’ve fallen into here is at least as good as a sharp stick in the eye, probably better. Coffee and reading at the Coffee Company from 7 to 9, walking or reading or both beside the water until whenever, blogging and work orders back at the inn until dark, then dinner at the Back Porch or provisions at Zillie’s. That’s about all there is to do in Ocracoke Village during the off-season after a hurricane, but I’m fine with having only one nice restaurant to choose from if it means not having to share the beach or the docks with another living soul.
Acadia feels the same way, squared. We went to one of the many deserted docks that line Silver Lake harbor this morning and, except for a brief sit in my chair while I was setting up, she spent the rest of the time hiding inside my coat. The wind and the pelicans and especially the tugboats were cause for great concern.
Cats, I’ve read, evolved in the African desert, so they have no positive genetic memories involving large bodies of salt water or big, rumbly objects floating thereupon.