The weather this morning reminds me of a morning waking up on deck. I used to long-line fish. We would set out at five in the afternoon, steam for three hours and start dropping in line. Eight tubs of line held one thousand, two hundred and fifty hooks. These lines were baited on the wharf earlier that morning and put aboard, covered up so the gulls wouldn't get to them. It took a couple of hours to run the gear, then there was supper. On this one occasion we were treated to bottled rabbit. There were four of us this trip and the man from Newfoundland brought Mason jars full of rabbit. He had trapped them the winter before and preserved them in a mild brine with garlic and onions. With the water boiling and some potatoes and carrots peeled we filled a large pot. Gently easing three jars of the rabbit into the pot alongside the vegetables we made tea and waited. This September evening was dead calm, the water a sheet of glass reflecting a purple sunset, a very beautiful night. While waiting to pass the time we jigged for cod to no avail. Another hour later and we are all sitting on the rail, our plates filled with supper. The rabbit cooked in its own gravy was wonderful. The aroma, I am sure, hit land. Tea with sweet milk, as we sopped up the gravy, was like a dessert. I had not felt so satisfied with a meal. As it does though, a supper like that makes one tired. Checking the anchor and the forecast we were ready for the bunk. I opted to sleep on deck and curled up with a sleeping bag. I didn't sleep much that night, the stars so brilliant, the gentle lap of a changing tide against the stern. When I did it was in increments of maybe thirty minutes and on waking each time the sky had changed. It became overcast and a light rain fell. When dawn arrived the rain had stopped. The cool moist air had washed my face clean of salt. We hauled back and set for port. I can't remember that catch but what will stick to me like bottled rabbit to one's ribs, is the feeling of an affinity with this planet and our insignificance as we occupy this large space - just a blip on the radar.