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JOY moves along just as her larger cousins; she leans to starboard as the
bow divides the Sound; the small bow waves move rapidly past, joining
as they depart at her stern; the rippling waters in our wake are behind
us a few hundred feet, finally merging altogether, leaving no seam, no
evidence we were ever present. Except for the slight sound of the waves rushing past our hull and the breeze in our sails, all is silent; the Island sits in the distance, hushed, nothing moving except perhaps a late fisherman returning to one of the docks along the shore; the distant Lighthouse blinks but is soundless; even a school of porpoises in the deep channel are silent...they surface...they dive...and spout fumes of water...but they too are silent...on their way to somewhere unknown.
Leaving JOY secure on the shore, I found Miss Lillian had already left for the theatre. It was dark by then. She had, though, left a towel and bucket of warm fresh water on the patio...and there was food in the oven.
I ate and went upstairs.I looked out of my west bedroom window. JOY was barely visable in the light from Henry's
Final Impressions
dock. She was lying there on the sandy shore as I had left her. The tide was a bit lower but would be high again before sunrise.
I could repair the rudder tomorrow and I knew the afternoon would be great for sailing...even if the wind still blew hard from Shackleford.
Soon the cool sheets of my bed were smoothing away lingering cares of rough seas and high tides and broken rudders and drenching waves and darkening skies...bringing sleep that hovered till awakened by the bright morning sun.
No matter the wind...JOY and I would be ready to go sailing again over the warm waters of Back Sound.
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