Dear Wigleaf,

I am writing this from a boat that slipped its mooring and drifted into the open ocean. But the current is indecisive, so I bob a few miles offshore, going nowhere, everything beyond reach. I am oarless, save for my hands, which cannot displace enough water to advance my craft.

At night I stare at the moon, hoping its gravitational pull will encourage the tide to wash me ashore. 

Adrift,
Renée