Purple skies and cobalt seas after a full rainbow, wing to wing we sail on. I listen to The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot, a good Michigan tune. My son Tristan is my music man. He always chooses the right song for the right moment. We couldn’t ask for better conditions to sleep in at sea: Calm, rocking us to bed after some fruit-filled crepes. The windy, wavy start with a man overboard search seems like a different day. I wish every evening was like this one: Peaceful. Hopeful. Open skies and seas. Fire pink twilight. And a half moon.
"Writing is a process, a journey
into memory and the soul."