******* of boat engines, gunning, raid the silence of my perched open window. They have their ways, fisher folk, and who am I to deny their tables food. Nets, full of brimming silver. I guard solitude jealously, the absence of demanding voices. Love can be found in such seeming desolation, the prayer for friend and foe in equal measure. I do not mind the sound of boats coming and going, the deep blue a highway for whales and men and fish and stars. The throats of bird and boat calling out, into the silence.