A threshing and splashing, bring me on deck. We lie in a circle of sparkling grey-green water; encircled, by white curtains of sea mist. The ghostly spars, of a pilot cutter, silently arrived overnight, drift in and out of focus; wraith like.
Two Labradors, enter our circular world. Their glossy heads leave arrows of wake, in the still water; spotlit by chance sunbeams, penetrating the fog. They are swimming purposefully. An orange dinghy follows, rowed by a walnut skinned, man; under a narrow brimmed, khaki, hat. "Morning walkies," he intones, smiling and resting on his oars, under Stargazer's stern.
The dogs seize their opportunity to board the dinghy. "Now I'm going to get sprayed," the man laughs. The dogs shake their dripping pelts dry. The man momentarily disappears, into a welter of iridescent sea water droplets.
Dogs and man come alongside the spectral pilot cutter; and board for Sunday breakfast. A smell of bacon mingles with the shroud of fog.
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