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Houseboat

The salty breeze sneaks through the open porthole and tickles my cheek.

Anne Davis

I stretch in bed as my house, a boat, gently rolls from side to side. It is morning on the Biscayne Bay.

I climb the ladder from my bedroom to the upper deck where my sister is eating, bathed in sparkling sunshine. I see blue water hugging Florida’s shores, and Dad strolling up our splintery pier. He has a container of bait in his hand. We are going fishing!

We wave goodbye to our seagulls, busy scavenging the pier for garbage the tourists left behind. Our house takes off toward open water. My sister and I play cards and watch for dolphins while Mom and Dad find the perfect spot to drop anchor.

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July/August 2017

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