Even Keel

The wind picked up, but not enough to clear the mist that had fenced us in since last evening. Down the hill , tiller under arm like bagpipes, No. 1 hefting the dagger board like a battle axe. I watched him rig the boat with skill and confidence and no more fuss than if he were filling a shopping trolley. In minutes , we were slicing the water, tacking and jibing.

Choppy though they were, the waters were a refuge of calm. Chatting and joking, we reached the serenity of Hackett's Creek and sat for a while in the stillness. The boat became a sanctuary , a place for shared confidences, for hard questions and honest answers.

And yet.......

The sense of impish fun was bubbling just beneath the surface and in a moment, I was upended. Bobbing in the bracing waters, his laughter ringing in my ears. Boat righted , I dragged myself aboard and watched as his Norman Rockwell grin appeared at the stern. Was that an accident? I asked. "Nooo!" he replied with glee.