The Crow’s Nest

Zeke awoke to the patter of rain against his apartment window. The were hitting the glass in surges. He turned his head and in the faint reflection he saw the pane flex. He wondered if the glass was tempered? Was there a danger of it shattering? While he pondered the question he remembered a stormy weekend at the coast.

Jackie’s Seaview always booked their guests weeks in advance. So he and his wife followed suit, reserving the Crow’s Nest for a January weekend.

They kept an eye on the weather like, and as though on right on schedule a nor’wester was threatening to show its stuff by late Thursday. They could be one of the no shows, but they’d already gambled seventy-five dollars. Besides, an in-their-face blow might be fun.

The storm was in full swing by Friday afternoon. Normal folks would have considered their deposit a bought lesson and stayed at home. Zeke packed the chain saw.

They weren’t surprised to find a fir tree across US 101 as they approached Cape Perpetua. Without the chain saw the weekend would have been over. instead, Zeke switched on the 4-ways, donned his slicker and cut a way to Jackie’s. They found her in the lobby illuminated by the flicker of a large candle.

“We lost the power two hours ago,” said Jackie. “I’ll  refund your deposit, or here’s  a loaf of fresh bread,  a cutting board, and a  candle” she added.

They took the bread and candle, as apparently everyone else did. She had a full house.

The Crow’s Nest was a solitary second floor room jutting straight out of the lower floor roof. It was like renting a lighthouse with an unobstructed view of the Pacific.

By morning the storm had moved inland and diminished in the Coast Range Mountains. But it had left its mark, trading a foot of kisea-foam for two cedar shingles that had left for parts unknown.

Zeke smiled. It had been fun Rolling out of bed in search of his slippers.

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