A Modest Craft

I have sailed them all.
From dinghies to frigates.
Felt the wind and waves, and currents,
breathed in the movement of sea and rivers,
of a world conspiring to transport me,
assure I never remain in the same place for too long.

It is as if the wind knows me
better than I know myself,
knows I am good at stillness,
but only for so long. I grow restless
in the same place after a time.

A sailboat is perfect.
There is a stillness in sailing,
even as the hull parts the waves.
You are traveling at the speed of the wind
and so you do not feel the wind
as others do. You give into it,
surrender to it, at times harnessing it
and at other times, simply letting it carry you.

When you sail, you use the rudder and sails
to control your path, but that control has limits.
often your path is anything but straight,
zig zagging as you try to end up at a single point.

You have sailed them all and they each have their charms.
But, here, later in life, you have chosen the modest craft.
Large enough you do not have to sail alone,
large enough your dreams and destinations can be shared,
small enough you pull the ropes and rudder yourself,
making a difference, sailing or being lost in small measures,
cutting the waves, but not leaving a wake.

About this poem

I have no idea where this poem came from. Some of them show up full-bodied and ready to go.

The photograph was taken in Venice, Italy

Tom