On why I keep coming back
A sundowner in the cockpit of S/V Spindrift, at anchor off Capo Comino, just behind Isola Ruja, east coast of Sardinia. 1900 local, 1700 UTC, September 30.
There is something to be said for a sundowner.
The sun going down. S/V Spindrift swinging on the hook. George Winston’s Summer playing, or Sting’s The Living Sea.
We’re making our way slowly down the east coast of Sardinia, pushing against a persistent southerly that builds to around 25 knots around 1400 local, 1200 UTC. That means Sarah and I get our sailing in early then find shelter by noon, in some cove with a white sandy beach. Then long walks and sundowners.
A lot has probably been written about the sundowner, and it’s easy to see why. You’ve had a long day. You’ve found refuge behind a spit of land, protected from the angry ocean to windward. Or you’re just resting, thinking about tomorrow’s sail.
But I don’t know what it is.
Maybe it’s that my mind can finally wander. Marsh is gone. Today’s struggle is over. Tomorrow’s can wait.
Or maybe it’s the music. George Winston’s Summer. Sting’s The Living Sea, because Sarah likes Sting. Someone that talented, playing something that seems so in harmony with the world.
Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Sarah in the cockpit, the two of us enjoying a conversation about this and that.
I keep turning it over and I can’t pin it down. I only know that I want to keep coming back.
A sundowner. At anchor in the lee of an island. The sun going down. Summer or The Living Sea. Sarah across the cockpit.
You don’t need a boat for this. It’s the back deck after the lawn is mowed. The front porch once the kids are finally down. A chair, a drink, the light going soft, someone you love beside you, and nowhere else you need to be. Everybody has a version of it. This is mine.
The sun is down now. If I can’t be here, I don’t want to be anywhere.
Fair Winds – S/V Spindrift
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