the long view

All day, every day, I look out at the water. Most days it reflects the sky, sometimes a shade darker, sometimes a shade lighter. On cloudy days, the two merge seamlessly at the horizon. But on days like today, the sky stretches out, endless and empty, while the water seethes, troubled with wrinkled cross-tides, with wakes and the aftermath of wakes. The boats criss-cross, churning their paths into foam until the whiteness dissolves to traceries, to lines, and, finally, to nothing at all.