notes on water and sunshine ferries and grace.

i wrote my friend lotta the other day, am on the ferry right now in the 9am sunshine, reverberating towards bainbridge to spend an afternoon in the woods, splitting and chopping and hauling. i hope. but maybe i'll get there and grandma will want me to wax the floors. which'll be fine but less thoreau-ish and manly. i went on to describe how so many things in my life have been good in this late summer, but that i have a lonely hollow note that rings in my chest; i'm not at peace with myself, and am unsure where to find it. later she replied that this one line rang a different note, a true, lyrical note to her ear. and looking back on it now, it does with my ear, and my heart, too. in my life i've never been more aware of my distance from god than i am today on this ferry, as it pulls into the dock on this slow-paced, flushly green island where the sun glints off the water and it all seems so obviously graced.