The story
I meant to close the door before taking the skiff out. Then I saw how the orange light fell across the dock and left it open while I made tea. The boat waited beside the steps. For once it was not the most interesting place to sit.
The fishing line rested in still water. Behind me, the workbench held all the things I would deal with tomorrow: a loose handle, a bent bracket, a sketch with no sensible dimensions. In front of me, the harbour required no immediate repair.
I stayed until the tea was cool and the sky had lost its last bright strip. The launch log received an entry even though the boat had barely moved. An after-shift adventure, I decided, could begin and end at the same doorway.
Distance is optional when the view has changed enough.