Austral Winter

It's been downright cool these past few mornings -- a welcome respite from the 17 months of tropical heat and humidity.  We've had to close the boat up at night to keep the chill out, as the temperatures have plummeted to the mid 70s ... it's coming on winter time here in Cairns, and Jennifer is enjoying the weather.  The nights are clear, the days sunny, and the near-daily rains of the November-April wet season have disappeared.  Now it's the dry season here in Cairns.

The other morning we woke to what felt like a crisp fall morning in Washington DC, with the air dry and cool.  Lying in our bed, with a light cotton comforter keeping away the chill, we began to reminisce about other fall mornings in far away places:  waking up together in Princeton the first year we lived together, and the sense of possibility we'd feel each fall as our kids got ready for another school year.  You'd think that spring would be the time of new beginnings, but as we talked, we started to see fall and winter as the time of our new beginnings. 

The moon is waxing as well, so the tidal currents are running strong.  These times of the lunar cycle, the tides can run 8-10 feet here in Cairns, which means huge volumes of water entering and exiting the inlet.  Our boat responds quickly to the shifts in tides, and we swing four times daily, tracking the changing current.  I had some time to myself today, as Jennifer went ashore for a Sunday lunch with my cousin Danielle's family (the wind was freshening, and with the strong tidal currents and the slippery bottom, I needed to stay on board in case we dragged anchor), so I wrote a poem that captured the essence of our early-morning conversation.

Austral Winter

Swinging back and forth on the diurnal tide,

We face north and then south, the sun rising abeam,

First port and then starboard, back and forth,

Waking and sleeping, we move with the current.

The austral winter approaches. A white moon waxes

As we linger in this harbor, aware of the shifting season,

The night skies becoming clearer, the mornings cooler,

A flat pink light washing the sky each dusk and dawn.

What difference between waiting and doing nothing,

At anchor, mid-life, swinging back and forth

North to south, you to me, past to present?

Here we recall other winter harbors, other cities,

Long ago mornings in Princeton, and Washington,

And now, in Cairns, a month at anchor, everywhere

Waiting to start, doing nothing, preparing together

For winter’s coming, planning each of these beginnings:

The start of a new semester, the letting of an apartment,

A child’s birth, new jobs, and, now, a passage to Bali,

This tidal metronome swinging, then to now, then to now,

Clicking a cadence of autumnal memories, then to now,

As if we have always been waiting for this moment

When doing nothing reveals how all our beginnings

Have brought us here, to Cairns, on this winter’s eve,

Prepared to ride the tide and resume the journey.