Sunken Treasure
I have decided that I want a boat.
I went jogging yesterday and discovered, rather to my surprise, that I am not completely out of shape. I run the clay track that winds through Palmer Park, the total distance of which I can only guess at, but I figure it's about a mile, more or less. Whatever the distance, I completed it and felt pretty good and suddenly ambitious, so I kept running. The clay always feels a little softer after a rain, and I love the "track crunchcrunch" sound the rhythm of my steps makes. In spite of inhaling a mosquito along the way, I completed a second tour without interruption. Even my legs, which are usually aching after the first half mile, held up for the entire distance. But, when I turned off the track and onto the pavement, my legs took on the physical quality of a gelatin dessert, causing my steps to be unstable. "Whoa, steady." I urged them, "Raise the mast! Or some other such nautical expression. Mark Twain!"
It was at this moment that I found myself enchanted with the idea of sailing. Maybe the practice of it wouldn't really interest me at all, but the idea... The skill of the sailor, the grace of the sail as it catches the wind, the romanticism of the open sea or lake or any body of water not contained within concrete walls. A little quiet, a little blue, a little wind. A little sailboat just a little ways out from the harbor... It seems like a nice idea.
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