Good Morning Whitehall Harbor

A hood of clouds that reached beyond the edge of the sky surrounded the harbor, effectually trapping everything in a cool and shadowy calm.  As the ferry floated the criss-cross of the breeze fell smooth upon the ocean creating what looked like a liquid laminate floor.  The call of a flock of gulls echoed as their V clan flew over Govenor's Island, around the Queen Mary 2, and disappeared into the rolling hills of four-story buildings across Brooklyn.  The shimmer of the sun that hoovered over the harbor floor followed me in my seat as we crossed the meeting of the hudson and east river and docked in Whitehall harbor.