There was something truly magical about the horizon blue.
The breeze kissed his lips and left him wanting more. The water softly slapped the hull as the boat cleaved through open ocean, sails furled and the engine running. The course was true, the waves were gentle and the wind was light, leaving him with little to do but wait for the craft to take them where they needed to go. The wood was old and tested, having crossed atolls day and night for a few years shy of two decades, his father once the helmsman. He knew every nook and cranny, every barnacle-free plank and splintered board his dear friend and companion. The thought of splintered boards made him cringe slightly, not at the cost of the refurbishing, but the loss of a dear friend. Even though be it with new repairs or old parts, they were still going forward, forever traveling yet that horizon never seemed to get closer.
There was something truly daunting about the ocean dark.
The helmsman stood at the stern, his foot holding the tiller in place, his arms placed loosely on the aft mast upon which lay the sail jib, his eyes gazing lazily ahead. He didn’t seem like he had a worry in the world, just a need to keep the rudder true until they reached home. The captain of the small boat exchanged a tired smile with him, both of them knowing full well they enjoyed the silence deafened by the sounds of the mighty dark blue as it raced by them. The ocean was once described as being a ‘dark, wine color’ in the times when the word blue was not invented, and the man at the bow could see why. The darkness below him felt so pregnant with life yet so devoid of movement that he felt so truly alone, so alone.
There was something truly menacing about the clouds gray.
A sudden breeze made him look towards the port side and beyond, where once there was the wide, expansive blue of the sky now existed a patch of darkness. It was a storm, just above the horizon, coming their way without heed of who was in its way. He admired the tenacity of the weather, how it threw the sun and sky into the mix with storm clouds and lightning, the unplanned contrasts of it all. The breeze grew slightly stronger, the harbinger of heavenly devastation, but the captain was not new to this, and neither was the helmsman. They were veterans of storms, within and beyond the atolls they called home, but only a man with a death wish would underestimate a storm rumbling towards them in the middle of the ocean. They had nowhere to take shelter.
There was something truly liberating about the lightning white.
When the rain hit, they were ready. They had judged the direction of the waves and shifted their course slightly to both prevent the boat from rolling over as well as not to be blown off course. Not much being spoken between them, the helmsman stayed at his post while the captain stood at the bow, holding tight. They had a little signaling system between them, using his arms the man at the bow would advise against the waves, so as to maintain stability, whenever they hit a crest and before they dropped into a trough. With tried and tested nerves they braved the storm, the winds whipping their clothes against their toughened, tanned bodies, the rain hitting them horizontally, stinging their eyes but they didn’t pay heed. His right arm, and then his left, helped the captain signal his partner, and they hit each wave with determination. Colossal walls of water were nigh invisible in the darkness of the storm, the lightning streaking and flashing the ocean in an angry blue. The lightning brought with it the drums of thunder, a heavenly drum-line beating their journey forward. Yet they paid no heed. They braved the storm through to the end.
There was something truly wonderful about the people brave.
The storm left them drenched only for a while; the returning sun took out the moisture from their clothes and rewarded them with the warmth of a lover. Both men traded smiles as they returned to the state of mind they were at before the storm came by, a relaxed sense of purpose, a timeless moment of serenity on the open ocean. They were voyagers, travelers like any other, and the sea was their terrain, their realm. Countless people had made this journey before, countless storms braved and a multitude of worlds discovered over ages of humanity. Both of them upheld the courage of the best of them, regardless of the intention of the destination, the sacredness of the journey an age-old custom. Before long, they saw land in the distance, a mere disruption in the smooth horizontal line that circled them. They had made yet another successful trip so far, with more to follow, so this was an achievement, albeit a small one. An achievement, all the same. As they cut the waters with the polished, barnacle-free hull of their trusty craft, both of them stared into the distance, a sense of wonderment in their eyes.
There was something truly magical about the horizon blue.