Ferries

I took the ferry from Port Orchard to Seattle yesterday. It was sunset and had been warm all day. Max was sleeping in the sling, his head was damp like a just-born-chicken. Or a baby mouse. We stood on the deck at the back of the ferry, admiring the sun setting behind terse mountain peaks and drooling gold on the water. While we were out admiring, I heard the slow-rising pitch of a person singing with passion on the covered part of the ferry deck behind me. A lady with a mullet was kind of yodeling. Slow yodeling. She kept laying back on the benches in front of the windows, so that from the deck all I could see were her knees and feet waving about lazily. And her earnest voice rising and wailing into the sunset. She would occasionally right herself, and drift around, changing her notes, brushing at her bright red dress slightly preoccupied. Never breaking up her music. Never once looking around to see if anyone could hear, or was paying attention. Then down on the bench she went, wailing passionately to herself. I like people like that. Max does too. It felt like we were in an indie movie, the soundtrack being one single, a capella voice...