The clouds came in late in the afternoon; a sinking cold crept close behind, seizing the opportunity.
Wheezy slept well that night.
The wind circled quietly around the inner harbor, gently rocking the small craft tied in tidy rows. The Apogon, fast at its berth, snugly bobbed to a quiet rhythm while a wilder chorus of storm droned in the skies above. Higher notes whistled ghostly songs all through the rigging, crackling flags and banners here and there. But, Wheezy slept like a sailor through it all, deep in the gentle heart of the Mother Sea on a peaceful journey all his own.
By morning the rains had come in full of determination and he awoke to a downpour pounding on his deck. The sounds of creaking docks and the restless boats tied up nearby told him he was safely still at home.
Through a curtain of rain he could spy a glimpse of seawall off the bow. He tried to get a better view, polishing a steamed over porthole with his cuff.
The dark shape of Fisherman's Wharf could be seen to the west, the zigzag ramp of Wharf # 2 hung a short distance to the starboard. Behind him, the Harbor Master's office could not be found, only its memory seen through sheets of falling grey blocking any view of land.
The constant drone of a good hard rain told him this was a fine time to stay at home and warm.
No point in even getting up, he thought. Best sleep awhile, 'til the sun breaks out. This should blow through pretty soon.
To be continued ...