Surrendering to the schooner’s inability to tack against the increasing strength of the northeast wind in the narrow channel, the captain told his first mate to turnabout just south of Porpoise Point and return to St. Augustine’s harbor. Jacques, overhearing the order, glass of wine in hand and chatting amiably with fellow passengers, silently began his calculations for jumping ship.
Gently comes my God some days
Gently wakens me
Gentle breath upon my soul
Instills divine serenity
Forward motion halted,
Wood stork hovers over nest –
Precision parenting
He pauses each morning to watch the sun rise
And let loose his thoughts to take hold where they might.
He senses some great thing beyond his reach
Whose name he can never quite bring to the light.
Blue heron
White breast
Evergreen –
Small gift
Reveille
Beckons the day,
“Wake up, my pretties!
Time to set sail!
Now, cast off! Away!”
Tide, teasingly,
Tugs at their sterns.
“Come, sleepy boats,
This way to the sea!”
Waiting for first light,
The captain dozes below –
Lighted-bridge stillness
Since moving to this town by the sea, I have become attracted to sights of sailboats moored in calm harbor waters during the minute or two before night disappears into the advancing day. At those times, I am filled with a quiet certainty that passing fancies of mine involving some derring-do are both possible and advisable. For good or bad, such notions invariably fade as the light strengthens.
