From the road, I train my cell phone’s eye on two fields. A small boat knifes through the slough while a ship heads to the Pacific through the deep channel of the San Joaquin. Oblivious to my scrutiny, the captains of each vessel navigate forward, determined to see the sunset from stable shores.

My engine hums, waiting for the shift and acceleration that will take us around the dogleg bend towards the park and the evening’s chores. I realize that these two boats actually sit distant from each other. One easily cuts through the calm expanse between neighboring marinas. The other’s long, heavy hull carries tons of cargo bound for the San Francisco port. Only my perspective sets the race; only the distortion of my inadequate lens pits them against one another.

I close my eyes, knowing that in the few seconds of my exhausted distraction, the race will evaporate. The motor boat will turn a corner into its own slough, while the ship will angle itself into the confluence of two venerable waters, heading towards Suisun Bay. But still I picture them neck-and-neck in crashing waves, dozens of crewmen on the ship’s deck while a single boater clutches the till of the smaller vessel. I cheer from the shore, loud and lusty, encouraging the lone sailor to hold its line while the cargo ship streams forward and its mates raise their fists in a glorious, universal pledge to victory.

In my car, idling in a layby on Brannan Island Road, I open my eyes to an empty vista. I can barely see the stern of the ship as it ponderously turns south by southwest. The smaller boat has already motored to its own safe berth. On the western horizon, the sun spreads its glow across the line of turbines. Its grandeur catches my attention; I release a long slow sigh. After a few minutes, I signal my intent, move onto the roadway, and continue my silent drive home.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®