A sloop rode astride disparate shades of blue, the ocean looking as if Gauguin had paletted every tone of that color available in the universe. The lone boat sheered through, cutting the briefest of white swaths, which were deftly consumed by azure strokes of the artist’s brush. Wind sung in the lines, with slap of bow and gurgle of wake, a pleasant serenade.
There is a vitality that seems to exist at the Equator. Astride the foredeck, with one hand grasping a stainless steel stay, it’s smooth gnurling carried the feel of the wind’s energy, that traveled as a throbbing pulse into the core of a weather colored form, which peered off through the broad expanse of blue forever. Green eyes rapt with sapphire horizon, reflected in mid morning light, calmly observing. Mind wandering, as creation’s flow traveled from sail to wire to body, and down through brown feet astride the rough texture, of a cream colored deck.
The singing of the rigging rose in timbre as the breeze freshened. The sails tugged more insistently: going, some place.
On a downwind run, the little boat leapt forward and the tang of salt carried on the breeze imparted a hunger for eggs with pepper, something the sailor had not tasted in awhile.
Man and boat sought an island, which lay amongst the great strand of viridescent gems, that comprise the Maldivian chain, which lie to the South East of India, astride both Laccadive and Indian oceans.
Memories convey persistent motivation, and it had taken some doing to reach this stretch of water, far removed from the busy world of commerce and hubbub, whose raucous cries, the green eyed man never seemed to miss.
In deeds past, and promises future, lay inspiration, hope, and somewhere, a particular island, where Creator touched and Creation responded, in purest form, with something unique in all the world. He knew she waited, and could feel fate in that morning wind, alongside something else, scarcely perceptible.