A long time ago in a land far away, Greg and I wanted a quiet 4th of July. We found ourselves at a small marina on the banks of the Petaluma River with no one else around. Perfect. Meanwhile, traffic on a nearby higway was, well, insane. We lingered all afternoon, reading, napping, eating . . . quietly. When we were ready to head for home late afternoon, we noticed the tide had changed, and the small sailboat that had been anchored in the river in front of us began to turn. “Let’s stay and watch the boat,” I suggested. “That can be our fireworks.”
I love the turning of the tide, especially after 18 years on the houseboat, . . . it’s so slow! So we settled in for one long last lingering moment, and when the little boat settled in the opposite direction, we saw the name that was painted on it for the first time.