There’s a beat to each swell, a timpani of halyards slapping like glass shattering over and over, the vibrations a shudder that thrums the soul. A groan, the tiller resists, then lifts, lifts, lifts. Bracing, she wails her fury, plunging into a gravity well. Play the sheet, forget subtle, she’s running hard, tippy, shouldering aside the foam…
The orchestration is Wagnerian, the subtext fear. Gurgles, the shush of a hisshisshisshiss. Listen. Listen hard. She sees it, feels it, the wall. Slam it now. A bolt of silence careens and leans and the purr of agony screams her length.
She’ll fight you, if you let her. Don’t, don’t, give in. Now, go now, release it. She’ll slice you headless on the lean, tuck it tight, into your gut muscles quivering, skin slicing blood greasing, let’er slide.
She’s got the bit, rooster-tailing, slamming, groaning coming about. Pow pow pow she swings her wings, accelerating into the broad reach.
Every time I read your work, I find my breath taken from me, and a little bit of my soul left as an offering.
(And every time I read your bio, which I do, every time, I laugh at the idea of having two pervert parakeets in the same house with Little Miss.)
I’m a sucker for sailing and it’s great to read pieces from one who’s lived it, felt it, been inspired by it. Exhilarating stuff.
My relatives always say that I am killing my time here at web, except
I know I am getting experience every day by reading such nice content.