There she blows, Southwesterly, of course.
On the bay, one does not delay.
Put in the battens
hoist the sail so big.
The sail catches with wind and flutters and spits.
The boom jitters about dancing to its own tune.
Cast off from the mooring and be gone before noon.
Oh little girl,
a warm wind blows through her hair.
She sits on the canvas bow being caressed by the spray
of a salty, sea air.
Up and down, up and down, gently rolling with the waves.
Onward and forward
leaving all the cares and concerns
far, far away.
No phones, no radios, nothing at all.
Just the wind, and the spray, and
the sun and the clouds.
Tack and jibe, tack and jibe to no where in mind.
Just to sail away the day with all cares
A little girl learns about the sea and the spray.
She peers down into the centerboard to
witness nature’s display.
Green is the water, no bottom to be seen.
The centerboard pulled taunt,
keeping the boat from a severe lean.
The winds they blow greater when the sun
heats the land.
In Buzzards Bay, the waves obey and
a little girl exclaims as the boat responds so grand.
Jibe says the man, watch out for your head.
The little girl giggles with the excitement not said.
Hours upon hours pass the day away.
The little girl and man tack back and forth, back and forth.
The mainland appears on the horizon so sudden.
The little girl readies the centerboard pull.
She knows near the land that the sand forms a bar.
She pulls and pulls with all her might,
catching one last glimpse of the green, green water still in sight.
And, up comes the board,
time for the mooring to land.
The man takes the aim and the little girl catches,
the mooring line quickly.
Let the sail go slack and return to the land.
Back to cars, and houses, and people and noise.
Another day awaits, with all its sailing joys.