Dockside At The Marina

Writing 101, Day 8: Go to a public location and make a detailed report of what you see. The twist of the day? Write the post without adverbs.


Here I am furiends, laying on the dock of the bay, in the morning sun, watching the the ships and the tides roll in. Sounds like a familiar song doesn’t it. Today I thought I’d describe what it’s like at the marina. It’s a weekday and except for the random cry of a gull flying over or the squeak of a fender being pushed up against the dock, the marina resembles a ghost town. Deck chairs sit empty with no one to enjoy the view. Flags hang motionless and boats of all kinds are still. Ripples of heat radiate from white hot fiberglass, while cooling shadows run across the expanse of wooden planks reaching down the endless length of dock, a mottle of greenish browns and tans from constant exposure to sun and moisture.  I have to be careful to avoid getting splinters in my paws from it’s rough surface.

The sea level is at it’s lowest of the day and the row of pilings that hold the dock in place tower above, pointing upwards towards a sky as blue as my eyes. The angle of the serrated metal ramp from shore sets the stage for the ill-timed boater arriving upon the scene. A comedy of errors worth watching, and I’m ready in the wait. Minstrel waits for her next sea cruise, biding her time with 4 thick off-white lines extending from her port side bow, midpoint, and stern, to the railing of the dock. You don’t dare call them ropes within hearing range of seasoned mariners or be prepared to be likened to a landlubber. The shadows are creeping back from whence they came and push me to look for a cooler place, while the divine smell of bacon emits from Minstrel and beckons me inside. Until next time my furiends I leave and wish you all a fond farewell .




5 thoughts on “Dockside At The Marina

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