Photo is of Ludington’s harbor, where the first lines of this poem were written.
Celebrating decades of difference
He says our sailboat is like a cottage on the water.
I am drawn to the unknown that beckons from beyond.
He taught me to feel the wind on my face,
sometimes a whisper, sometimes a roar;
introduced me to the thrill of watching
the air fill the sails, our boat heel,
the hull slice through water,
the gurgling sound of the wash becoming
background music to an unspoken intimacy
as nature and knowledge propel us forward.
Accompanied now by flocks of cormorants,
the black flutter of an occasional monarch,
we have sailed together for decades.
I am at the wheel; he is trimming sails–
a communion that has brought us home after
being tossed as a balloon on eight-foot waves,
thrown on our side by gale wind gusts,
pounded by rain under lightning-lit skies,
swallowed by fog in the path of a freighter.
His calming presence evokes confidence
but skies seem hazier these days.
Is it climate? Is it age?
This morning, fishing boats glide across glassy waters
protected by the pier. But beyond the harbor lights,
a disquieting ripple speaks to waves fueled
by night’s winds, by the dawn’s building breeze.
Today, like yesterday, the same question.
Do we stay or do we go?
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