Yin yang inside a sun design

The boat is in the shed now, upside down on the trestles, and Callum has finished the sun on her bow. You will laugh when you see it. He drew the round middle first, half white and half black with the two little eyes, then went mad with the rays, curling every one of them over at the tip like the ferns on the hill path. Mother would have said it looked like a wedding cake left out in the rain.

The mainland boat has not come since Tuesday. Mr Gow says the swell off the Skerry is too high for the ferry and the kelp has got into the slipway, but I think he is tired of sailing back empty. We have eaten the tinned peaches. Callum keeps going down to the shore to look at the grey water as if it owes him an answer, and I have stopped telling him to come in.

Last night the fog came in thick and he sat on the step with the paint pot between his knees and said the trick of it was that neither half could be the whole sun without the other. I told him that was daft and he said it was a fact, Ada, and it was printed on the tin. Then he stood, wiped the brush on his jumper and started on the port side.

I have written this on the back of the tide table. When you see the ferry, bring the good thread and a needle. The boat needs a rope through the bow ring, and I want her tied to something that will not drift.