The Dry Salvages

The sun came back from beneath the Atlantic, and spread its rays across the quaint village. A real scorcher was brewing so I made my way towards Front Beach. I headed north at a steady swimmers pace through the chill of 60 degree water. When I approached the small rocky isle, I found it covered with sea birds and guano. So I headed due east, toward the Dry Salvages (a bastardization of three savages). 

I somehow got off course and ended up in a shipping lane with a freighter moving in front of me. They sounded their horn in recognition of me and pulled me aboard. "What are you doing way out here swimming?" the captain asked in his perfect French language. I replied, "Just out for some exercise and a swim." The captain called me a cab and I rode back to the safe harbor of Rockport Massachusetts with the harbor pilot.