SAILING

She lies, angrily, at the dock waiting for me. She was not meant to be tied, bow and stern like a prisoner,  while seagulls sit on her shrouds and taunt her, the rude waves slap her about and barnacles chew her bottom.

I throw off the coverings, like blankets on a horse. As I leave the dock, her mooring lines look like a broken spider web which a captured fly has escaped.

Carefully I guide her out, past the pilings and rocks.  In open water I point her sharp, white nose into the wind and dress her.  I raise a white, crackly triangle up the mast. I unfurl the sunset colored jib. She hesitates. Her sails catch the wind. She shudders all over, like a horse getting rid of flies. She heels a little to one side, then she is moving.

The waves curl from her bow like ruffles.  The sound she makes as she moves through the water is like the sound of someone brushing silk.