Clarke to Gibralter
It takes a while to break camp. And the sky stayed gray in the morning, inviting us to doze a bit longer. The clouds hang low; they won’t burn off today. Without sun, the wind won’t kick up. No wind, no wind waves to interrupt the surface of the water. This is the weather I had prepared for, a bit too warm on the sunny days. The low clouds gave way to a constant drizzle, the water hanging in the air, damping all sound.  Pausing my stroke, the swash of the paddle and rustle of Goretex are absorbed by the heavy air; I hold my breath. Wincing, my next stroke bruises the silence.