The Sailor

The boy and his father set sail out of the Port of San Diego, California, on a perfectly warm, blue seventy-eight- degree day. The wind, though slightly calm, would be just enough to fill the sails, balloon them up toward the blue sky. The boy couldn’t wait for that moment: the sails puffing and gusting up, full of air’s energy , its natural speed. For now, they chugged between the white and blue and red crowd of docked boats. He watched for a moment as the boats all rolled and lifted in unison with the pattern of swelling waves.

The boy looked out ahead, west. There was only one small stretched white wisp of cloud and the occasional white cap of a wave to contrast the blue, the boundless light blue of sky and the dark blue of sea. The boy’s father pulled back the throttle and slowed the boat, then cut the power as they escaped the marina. The rumbling din of the motor quit and they were accompanied only by the flapping wind and waves. The man glanced at his son with a smile. He gestured toward the wooden wheel which he held.

"She's all yours, Pal."

The boy took the helm with a strong grip and a dazzling grin. His heart swelled with the wave of adventure, and he pointed the bow toward the open ocean.