Teleport off the port

June 29
When the immediate light of our sun shoots from one end of the horizon over the valleys of a distant mountain range through the crests of the brown waves and crashes against the shoreline cliff, I forget for a moment that I have a life, the dirt-fronted, tundra-tufted cliff face blasted with sun so fiercely it is knocked out of its home in Alaska and into my head, where nothing exists except waves refracting light, this cliff and distant silhouetted mountains. Then the light hits my head, my skin, and my eyes directly. The waves of light fire my neurons which immediately shakes me from my other-dimensional hermit perch and like sparks from a flint I appear now as part of this scene that used to be apart of me. The drone of the Cats Paw's engine, this gill net fishing vessel, the hurdling of the waves that my body has already learned to counterbalance, the other boats fighting the current to find a calmer water to anchor for the three hours that the district is closed. It all starts to come in clear. I'm back, I'm an Alaskan fisherman, and I'm basking in the sleep-deprived glory of the wild land, the textured sky, the endless water and the mighty salmon.