I look out to sea, not especially nervously as I do not expect to receive the death sentence represented by the terrible Black Spot of Treasure Island fame.
I look out to sea to give Cheyenne time to check out the bushes as we meander slowly back to the car yet again, on yet another morning of exploration by my dog and I.
Looking out to sea one is reminded that nothing much will change after we are gone, even as we are warned of the perils of climate change and sea change and impending rising tides that won't go down again. When I used to sail I would spend hours and even days offshore sitting at the rail looking over the side, like a dog with her head out of the car window, doing nothing more energetic than the waves slip along the sailboat's hull.
Driving the Overseas Highway I observe this fascination with the sea on the part of visitors driving to Key West. They slow on the bridges and take the time to look at the water as though some inspiration will rise up out of the water and explain the meaning of life.
Cheyenne doesn't seek answers. She just needs a rest when we get home from a long morning spent walking and staring at open water.
A girl needs her beauty sleep, even if my girl is eccentric and prefers a hard bamboo floor to her, or even my, soft bed.
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