Arms hug across our chests.
Like chilly birds we flap
to warm ourselves
against the wind
snapping at our faces.
Like an old lady
the ferry groans and shifts,
making her way across the bay,
begrudging and proud
altogether.
We huddle on benches,
watery eyes squinting at the cold.
Like hardy parishioners,
embattled and determined
hopeful.
Across the bay
the island sleeps,
waiting out winter's
crisp embrace.
We soldier on
through the off-season —
tethered by
this crossing
of the sea.