Morning

It's beautiful to see the sun breaking through the mottled grey clouds layered over blue sky. A city awakes slowly on a Saturday. I've found two young party guys strewn about the living room on couches and cots. They've come in in the wee hours of the morning yet because I said last night we'd be sailing they're moving like slugs now stumbling and bumping into furniture to wake. Their enthusiasm with life itself is decidedly youthful. I'm onto my second cup of coffee. Had I stayed up late with dancing and talking and smiling young women I'd sleep in for a day and skip sailing. They burn impossibly long candles at both ends while I'm struggling with a match. Yet it's fun to watch them rebound. They don't have aches or pains or memories of failures. They are not burdened with past but instead have this clean slate of future as a canvass to paint outrageous colours on. My pretty neighbour across the way is on her balcony eating toast while her husband reads the newspaper across from her. The trees are green with envy of the late summer flowers. They're waking with songs even the birds can't mimic. Birds are flitting about though. Without a farm cock to waken them they have arisen to the cries of gulls. I can smell the sea. The tide tables could be more favourable for getting away but we're motor through. My Yanmar has twice the power of today's First Narrow current. I'd just rather be leaving on an ebb with the speed of the ocean's breathing taking me in tow. One of the guys is eating breakfast slowly. They like a cereal called 'fruit loops'. The other fell back to sleep after sitting up for a few moments. The cat is eyeing him considering a pounce. I'll start to move myself and they're young enough to follow.