Another difficult day. Sometimes I feel as if Arthur spends half of his time cussing at his frustration with whatever current shortcoming he’s struggling with, and the other half of his time telling me in what way I’m screwing up. And so it goes.
A tree can be seen, reflected in the water at lowish tide, as we prepared to go out fishing in the boat. Arthur didn’t tell Wayne or me about his intentions – we noticed he had the motor running on the boat and was ready to go.
[daily log: walking, 2.5km]
Day: July 17, 2019
Caveat: Poem #1081 “Unpleasant excursion”
It's not easy, with the rain and wind: The boat's propeller was tangled by badly aimed fishing line. I thought we would hit rocks. "Use the small motor!" he was yelling. We went east, rocking, slow.
– a nonnet
