dreams

During the past few months, when I pictured myself this summer, I was not in the soggy Northeast.  Rather, my minds eye held a picture of me on a sail boat, sailing the waters from Istanbul to Crete, island to island, snorkeling the underwater ruins, under blue skies and bluer waters.  It may be best the captain needed and wanted a crew member to sail both ways, the trip back to Kavarna would be a lonely solo.  His need was my out.  It overcame the niggle of uncertainty I had begun to feel at the thought of trying to find the one small boat I’d meet, out of hundreds, moored somewhere in the immense port of Istanbul, one of the world’s largest ports, spanning both sides of the Bosporus.  I remember crossing it by bridge and by water taxi.  Tankers and cruise ships from the east as well as the west towered above and as far as the eye could see.  A girl can dream.  It’s on my list.

This morning as I sit at my desk looking out my window into the woods, I see magic.  The sun is shining.  Tall oaks form a green roof overhead.  My yard is shady and cool; confined by the trees, an outdoor room.  More fleece is drying on the racks in the sunny spot.  Lovely.