A rhythm rocks

these boats, sails furled

tight as language ….

(“For Graham Everett,” Ray Freed)

Today’s ten-mile paddle was calm and uneventful. I’m sure there were more stories going on than I noticed, but I’d rather let the pictures do the work.

Moriches Inlet in the distance and a quiet place to have a snack.

Near the Smith Point Bridge I moved to the north side of the bay to stay close to my next few put-ins.

A few old duck blinds and fishing shacks dotted the less peopled parts of the shore.

I made it near to John Boyle Island, but the birds there did not want me to land. A black-backed gull even dive-bombed me a few times when I was close to shore.

I headed for the Bellport Marina along the northern shoreline and waited for my ride. Sometimes furled sails and language are the best way to tell a story with the detail. Less can be more.

The dockmaster at Bellport Marina is now one of my favorite Long Islanders.