Clock Calm

The man awoke before the alarm, pleased not to have been jarred awake. It was 3:20 when he hit the button on the coffee maker. Half asleep, he thought of the woman sleeping in the next room. She had said, "Take the day. Go. You will regret it later if you don't." He had hunted duck on this day each year since he started.
The trailer and gear were all set to go. Just the thermos and gun needed to be stowed in the truck. From the bedroom her sleepy voice reminded him to remember the lunch she had packed last night and to be careful. "I will be at the usual spots at Point Lookout," the man whispered as he kissed her goodbye.

The night was warm and calm for the first days of December. As the man drove the truck, he thought of the past year. Catching himself, he smiled, thinking "That's for later"-a ritual that was 25 years old today-a day set aside for reflection.

The ramp was empty so early and the routine of launching went quickly, gear stowed. The outboard started on the second pull, eliciting a pleased grunt from the man.

As he cleared the high banks of the channel, the saltmarsh and bay revealed itself over the bow of the man's boat. The sky was perfectly clear and an almost full moon lit up the sky and was reflected in the waters of the bay; it was as flat and smooth as a mirror. A slight mist hung over the water, blurring the edges of what were land, water, and sky. As the pumpkinseed planed effortlessly across the glass smooth bay his senses reeled, he thought: "I could be flying!"

The woman was right.

Jim Rochford