The weekend

The workweek, seemingly filled with tireless human drama and an endless cacophony of distracting sounds.

The regrettable din of the morning commute, a clamor of exhaust sounds, political vitriol on the news, various opinions and discordant arguments; and then there is the alarm clock, that miserable invention, a mechanical Drill Sargent, screaming at me to wake up.

How wonderful is it then, to arise on a Saturday morning, gently nudged awake by a rocking hull and the tap, tap, tapping of a halyard that I forgot to secure before turning in.

Lying there in the v-berth of my boat, teasing me with her motion, tenderly coaxing me to roll out of my bed, almost as if to say, “Wake up, you’ve got to see this sunrise!”

Oh how I prefer the weekend and my boat to that damned alarm clock!

Sail well friends…

This dance…

The sound of water and hull, a warm kiss from the autumn sun on my lips as the wind whispers in my ears. This close reach and the rhythmic beat of hull and wave, the aerodynamic call of the sails and response from the keel.

I hold her hands, tiller and sheet, she lets me lead, though I know that she is the better dancer. I can see people watching us from shore as we waltz. The water is our ballroom and the wind, our music.

My sailboat, she is a lady, the prettiest girl at the dance and in this moment, she loves me and I am in love.

Sail well…


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