Perhaps the images here will allow you to join me in a pleasant memory. It’s Sunday (September 13) at about 10:30 a.m. on that clear, brisk morning.
We’re on a bank of the shore above Great Cove, where the tide is rising. The shifting, but mostly southwesterly, winds to our left are at about 10 with gusts seemingly over 15 miles per hour. The only sound is the stiff breeze moving branches and grasses.
It’s a perfect morning for sailing. But, unlike previous plague-free Septembers, the Cove now is hosting only a handful of sailboats, and all of them are moored with sails furled tightly. Then, about a mile to our north, we see a billowing sail on what apparently is a 26-foot Alerion. She’s being sailed by a single sailor.
He’s got her close-hauled and sailing in our direction from the north – picking her way toward us virtually into the wind. It takes a while for her to reach the Cove ledge in front of us. But, it’s a pleasant wait with wind in our hair, sun in our face, and a bit of envy in our heart.
The wind rider doesn’t see us as he and his boat cut through the Cove, the only really living things on the move in our visual universe. He does a tight, almost spinning, turnabout; adjusts the boom and sails, and now has the wind virtually behind him as he races toward home waters.
The envy increases. (Brooklin, Maine)