The story
The last crane stood beyond the warehouses with its arm pointing toward open water. I had used it as a turning point on nearly every trip. Tonight the light beyond it was too good to ignore, so the skiff continued into the sheltered outer reach of the story.
From there the workshop looked small. The patched panels of the boat caught the same orange light as the cranes, making everything appear briefly related. A bass moved near the bow, then slipped beneath the reflection of the sky.
I turned back before the colour faded. The notebook entry was longer than the journey. It described a familiar place from one unfamiliar angle, which is sometimes all the distance an adventure needs.
A new view can be close enough to hear the workshop door.