In the distance cumulous clouds boiled up as high towers in the sky, billowy and bright. Below them the sea turned a steely gray, and around and behind where singular clouds of pinks and orange. And we …we were off, racing to nowhere, racing towards Eden.
I lay content in my state, against the wheelhouse boards, watching those distant cumulous clouds boil, thinking of what it would be like to live in those celestial chiefdoms, where mists do battle with turbulence, whose castle walls are ever changing. Heaven there or heaven here; what difference. Perhaps they should be viewed as sails, high riggings, with mainsails and spinnakers, …ships of state, a’ sail on higher seas then ours, and with perhaps a greater purpose. A fleet on the way, guided by a different compass rose, manned by a heavenly host.
Perhaps so. But if they peer down on us from their coign of vantage, surely they must think …”Oh, what a lovely sight! Man’s vessels under sail, enjoying such a fine afternoon. Look how they lay against the breezes, side by side, keeping pace. Companions. Lovers. Caressing life’s gift. Surely it must be The Zio and The Nightwind, together again. The most lovely of all Man’s ships.”
And so it surely is. And so it is.