Week 4 Group forum, Craft writing 4(b) Cutting the thread.

Me / She

It was a bright sunny day on the lake, and I squinted over my left shoulder there it was, Mount Te Hara standing watch over all there was.  The top of Mount Te Hara was shrouded in wispy clouds as I gave the command to cast off. With the yacht now released from her ropes she glided up the channel, fringed by craft on my port and starboard, it was like a mini ticket parade of boats and  people, as Alhumbra cut a gentle path against a 3 knot current. To the stern, my way was marked. Checking over my shoulder, a sense of ultimate satisfaction bubbled up; "Yes, it’s a pretty sight on a perfect day, I never tire at reviewing the mark a vessel leaves behind her". I whispered.

Angelian was only twelve when the Alhumbra slid past the last marker buoys. The familiar port and starboard lights were always a welcome sight coming into harbour after a days sailing. The same lone seagull peered down at Angelian, unflustered hogging the port light. Angelian wondered if it was the same solitude bird; or was it a different bird, and they went on a roster like the one they had at her Church; “They all look the same to me,” she said. She swiftly passed the buoys and broke free from the confines of the harbour, the euphoria overtook her, a sense of freedom, she could feel her senses being heightened, as she prepared to hoist the sails.

The harbour master looked on bemused at this brazened young girl heading into open waters. The weather was fine, a gentle breeze of 15 knots briskly caressed his skin as he contemplated the fact that there were no adults on board. He had seen younger sailors though, age has no bearing on these things, experience does, she’ll be fine he thought, and made a mental note.

It was now 7 O’clock and Angelian had sailed most of the day. It had been the perfect day, the sort of conditions that only come once in a while. For one thing there was a constant breeze, the gentle rhythmic lapping of sparkling deep blue waters kept her company along with the odd seagull looking for a tit bit. The warmth of the sun accompanied Angelian the whole way around the Island and back. A smile creased her pretty young face as she basked in a glow of  satisfaction, solitude and tranquillity. It was then that it just burst out of her, it came welling up uncontrollably, shouting at the top of her lungs she cried “PERFECT, PERFECT” !! 

But perfect doesn’t stay perfect for ever. On the journey home as dusk fell, foreboding dark menacing clouds began to form from the North east. The air grew colder, the water turned a murky black, so black in fact Angelian imagined the dungeons of Davy Jones Locker coming to claim her as their own.  The thought of it horrified her. In the pit of her stomach she could feel the anxiety rising, next would be fear she thought, clawing at her, sapping her energy and common sense. In her young mind, she was not equipped for this. “How could a young 12 year old be equipped for such an event?” she said to the wind, and with each passing moment, her imagination began to get the better of her.