I don’t think it’s the same for other people.
First of all, I’m not other people. People aren’t me. Here we go.
In my mind I see him leaving, the crew scrambling with deck lights lighting up in the mouth of the anchorage, it feels like an escape. I’m reminded of watching my sister leave on the great big Thunderbird - her sails going up in the dark of the night, the wind whipping up a chop that tosses the old Coast Guard cutter that I hang on to with binoculars pressed to my face, trying to discern which crew is where. My rum drink tries to slide away. There was an ice maker on that boat, what luxury.
Gypsy Spirit does not. And I can feel the excitement from a million miles away, I can feel the nerves. Can you hear the sea from across the small bit of land that separates you? Is there lightning in the distance, as there often is at that time of year over there? Is the green crew pissing you off, Mr Captain, and are you wishing for a crew who knows the boat?
Oh Gods, I can hear the wind in the sails, the heartbeat rippling with the whip of the main luffing and a shout lost downwind. It’s an easy escape, but we are excited, and this ol girl needs to shake off the nests in her hair and the spikes in her belly, it’s time to fly and meet the night head on.
It’s a path we’ve fought before, my love, and I may be here in the cold north with a busted up foot - but in my soul, I am right there with you and I can feel every adventure coming our way. I can taste the sea like I can taste your mouth, a memory I will never forget, and one I will seek out over and over.
Here we go…