A Week Later, You Miss the Sea

When you come back to stable ground after a time away, you miss the sea. Maybe because it's all new to us, or each day out there has something different. A new high, a new low. Engine trouble, the perfect sail trim, the bow bursting through waves taller than the boat, or cutting through the shallow blues of the Caribbean. While living in the same quarters your front yard changes every day.

It's calm and clear, two feet and coral with thousands of fish below the keel. It's tall, and deep, and dark purple mixed with blue and thousands of feet underneath.

Every day you see dolphins, or tired birds that find the pulpit for a nap, sharks, tuna, squalls or sunshine.

You look forward to the early mornings, shutting down evenings with the sunset and a glass. Tending to sheets and winches while underway, watching the weather and killing time finding that extra half knot.

I would live on the sea. Not in marinas or even on the hook, but out to sea in the big stuff. We can't just yet, we have our work and our lives to manage. For now it's just something to visit, and something to miss when you step ashore, and look forward to returning to as soon as you can.