Posted by: syncopated1 | February 28, 2012

Are your dreams also unrelenting?

I point my little boat into the wind slicing through Maine’s seacoast like a knife.

The Jongleur proudly dances her way through the chop, her bright oak bow rising and falling across each swell with breaths of excitement. Feeling the joy in her planks I trimmed in on the main sheet, sit a little higher on the windward rail, and look ahead. In my mind I plot a course up this little channel, placing imaginary markers I hold my heading and look around.

The Maine coast is awash with a diverseness of shape, sound, and life. No matter where I go with my girl, Maine is simultaneously constant and breathtakingly new. I can always count on her rocky shores that bring her pine trees right to the brink of cascading into her vibrant oceans. Safely stopping them just shy of all tumbling away to the pulsing depths. No matter where we sail though, Maine is new, her coast is always different. No two coves or inlets are alike.

Jongleur and I ride swiftly to my first “marker,” balanced in the center of my boat I tense, ready to swing her around. I fall off the wind, just like I was taught, gaining boat speed and smoothly tack. As always, I marvel at the brief moment when she points directly into the wind, stands perfectly still. That moment seems to always last. Far longer than I ever expect. Then, like releasing your breath when you’ve been holding it too long the sails fill and off we go again!

Racing upwind with visions of rocks and trees and chop before me. Racing upwind with full sails, a spirited bow. Racing upwind until reaching the next marker, preparing to come about. Waiting in that one interminable moment of anticipation. Waiting until my breath can hold it no longer.

And I awake. I am confused at first, as the Maine coast fades and my bedroom blends its way into reality. My sails become sheets, the Jongleur‘s sweet lines broaden into the square of the bed. Calming, like the turn of the wind at sunset, I fall back into my pillows; letting my imagination lazily lap the shores of my reality. Eager for my dreams to come true I patiently await the turn of the season.

 

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Responses

  1. You made me think of skinny-dipping in the Maine ocean with the sense of ancient history and depth beneath my treading feet, and the sharp in-breath against the water’s cold. (And that’s in the summer!) Also reminded me of tree-lined shores, dark with the depth of pines. Thanks so much. I need that. Rivera


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