Insomnia is not so bad afterall

I tried to post this at 3 am the other morning but had no internet signal. Not sleeping through the night is something I have come to understand as a lone part of my life, and although it used to happen back when I lived in the real world, always at times when there was an early commitment the next day, now it just comes and goes whenever it wants, and I let it in like an old rival who no longer inconveniences me. I won't say I like it, because there is nothing better than sleeping on a boat. Nothing compares to the barely perceptible motion rocking you and the soft lapping water noises that lull you into a suspended place.
But I have been seeing the one and two and three ams of the morning and its a very beautiful and peaceful time to be awake, especially without that anticipated morning stress. Rock and Max deep breathe in our bed below, pendulous and unaware. Wandering naked around the boat with Alma padding behind me or sitting beside me on the bow, when everything is still, except for a light night wind or land breeze.... My dock neighbor, a sailboat away is usually up, her light varies from the forepeak reading, to the galley making coffee(or having a Sambuca.) We talk the next day and always agree to let each other know we are there, up when all is asleep, but neither of us disturb the night to ruin it with words.
The stars are amazing and I have watched the Big Dipper slide around our stern to the north and west and settle over the yacht club in the last few months. I glimpse a few shooting stars no matter which direction I look, and pick out the constellations I know, amazed at the expanse overhead. Never did finish that book on celestial navigation... Count the mast lights, always just a handful compared to the boats anchored out. There is a faint city glow in Puerto Plata's direction, about 14 miles east on the coast but nothing to give the sense of much civilization, lots and lots of lonely black sky.
I watch the late night stragglers, the hunters, the lost. The owls of the DR are plentiful, small beige ground-dwelling birds that call out as they pass into the mangroves for dinner, bats flit by silently blocking the starry ink, a big jittery flying thing zips by....The sounds of the night and early morning are many once the ear drops its expectations. A number of rookeries dot the mangroves in the harbor, and the occasional eruption of egrets chattering is music to the night. Punctuated by the splash of fins chasing a meal , the thump of the dinghy catching a tiny wake into Magpie, the sound of the ocean roaring and the blowholes in the cliffs along the shore beyond the harbors entrance, a deep cow moo or the high-pitched donkey-having-sex bray, the rooster who can't sleep and the dog that barks after the shadow of an owl on it's hunt all play together in a soft symphony of the sleepless.
Around 4:30 theres a dinghy motor and before long TipTop , an 80 or so foot tourism catamaran starts to purr and slides out in between the boats with a flashlight to guide it to the ocean. No thumps , only the low engine rumble and bouncing lights, off to pick up touristas from resorts for a day of idyllic deserted beaches, swimming, snorkeling, and beer. The lone captain is the only one up and off to work. I stretch, consider coffee and my book, but pad back to bed for a deep rest before the rest of the harbor awakens. What a magical place to be.