The Salem Witch
I sail from the cove, having to tack around a half-sunken mussel dragger long run aground on a sandbar. You’d think by now someone would have towed the rusted hulk out to sea and scuttled her, but I guess she’s no more a threat to navigation than the sandbar itself. To me, the dragger is a reminder of how feeble we humans are when we put out to sea. If such an impressive assemblage of steel and iron can find itself ruined here amid the calms, what’s to guarantee any vessel making it past the Bar, where the real ocean boils and spits, coughing up the chance of destruction with each impending roller? Looking at the dragger now, with its bow pointing skyward and speckled in black and white egret droppings, it’s a view only a painter of Jackson Pollock’s talents could apprecia
