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Sailing HideAway |
In the failing light the HideAways headed up, dropped sail,
and urged our aged outboard to consciousness.
Linda worked the sails into their resting places while I, unable
to see through the downed sails, stood on the stern bridge deck steering a
course to the channel the tiller at my side.
Bruised, battered, soaked and tattered the
HideAways crept into the Gulfport Channel with a fairly well shredded main sail
and a dingy splintered.
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Gulfport Florida Channel |
As HideAway, a Com-Pac 23, surged home running before the
swells I stood taller than the bimini watching our little craft below.
The outboard gurgling as it pushed us along, a Fish Hawk cried,
the splash of a fish somewhere, the roil of a wave. I sensed a sailor’s
connection with the mariners of the ancient world.
I Could See for a Thousand Years
The boat rolling now,
homeward bound, as the wind reached her broadsides running free my tiredness
vanished.
All was at peace –
Only the sea, the wind, and we.
I slowed the engine to idle…