As she sails across the waves she looks like a dainty butterfly, wings folded, sipping from a sea of nectar.
When I turn into the wind, the jib flaps and flails itself until I pull it to the other side and it fills again, with the gusty,salty air.
As I turn to go downwind, she is like a bird with wings outstretched to dry, skimming over silver flakes of reflected light.
The only sounds are the creaking of halyards. the silky swish of the water, the sea gulls cry and the music I play, spreading its notes back behind me over the white-capped, sunlit sea.
I like to sail on a slant until the boat's edge is in the water, the mast leaning, horizontal with the sea. Everything down below goes crashing to the other side. Sometimes I scare myself.
Looking up to check the wind-vane, I see a toy jet drawing a line across the sky. People being carried along by noisy, powerful engines. As two leaping grey dolphins pop up beside the boat, clearing their airholes, I do not envy the jetting people.
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