As harbormaster at a moorage on the Columbia River, even Christmas Day was a workday for me. Before heading to my son’s house to celebrate, I walked along the deserted dock, checking every boat and boathouse for frozen pipes. All good, I thought, and turned to head back.
My left foot slid out from under me. An icy patch! I toppled over the side of the dock–into ice-cold water three feet below! I clutched a heavy chain for dear life. I’ll never get out of here on my own.
“Help!” I screamed. “Please, help me!” I knew I was calling out in vain. My body shook and my teeth chattered. How much longer could I last? “Help!”
A couple appeared before me, with two firefighters. The firefighters knelt down, pulled me out of the water and wrapped me in a blanket. The couple stuck around to make sure I was okay.
“We were blocks south of here,” the man said, “but your voice seemed to carry on the wind.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” one of the firefighters said. She knew as well as I did that on this river, the wind blows to the west, but today it blew to the south. My guardian angel must have beat her mighty wings to change the direction of the wind in my favor.
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