My second cousin is a fisherman. He heads out on his boat at the turn of the tide, often in the wee hours of the morning. I can only imagine what it’s like to be out on the water when it is still dark, to work in drenching rain or blustery winds, thick fog or bitter cold. I can only imagine what it’s like to be out all day, the burn of rope and salt water, the constant waves against the hull. I can only imagine the return home, aching eyes from squinting against the sun, anticipating the sudden silence of the motor, the rough rope looped around the pier, the empty hold, and the road home.
Taken on June 15, 2008