I place a towel on the weathered wood deck and slide on to my belly like the cobra yoga pose in reverse. My thin socks find a hollow groove between two planks and my head rests nicely on the pillow pocket created by my arms crossed in front of me. Like a shy child, my eyes hide in the nook of my bent elbow, blocking the glare of the early afternoon sun.
Where I lie in the lee of the deck, the wind is blocked by seagrass, still roseless rose bushes, and other coastal branches just budding their first leaves of the season. The still air captures the sun's rays and plants them firmly into my black sweater - two layers beneath, my back defrosts. Heat rises from the wood to warm my belly. I close my eyes.
Waves wash against tidal rocks where mermaid's gloves has drifted ashore. Broken crab legs, caught by a beached log, fade in the dry light. On shore, atop the giant douglas fir, the neighbourhood eagles start their nest.
I am warm, finally.
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