Chart Unfurled

Sigh. Crawling out of the felt drawer with green baize lint clinging stubbornly to my tail, I spotted an embossed brass umbrella stand by the shop door crammed with rolled navigation charts. Hoping to check how far the harbor water really was, I hauled out a thick rolled map. Naturally, the stiff parchment recoiled like a coiled spring, snapping open with a sharp rustle that caught my bill and sent me stumbling onto my rump. Flustered and muttering, I pinned the curling corners down with both webbed feet. Between faded soundings and ink-drawn lighthouses, the shoreline looked quiet enough. Rolling it back up, however, will be someone else's problem.