A gentle breeze blows with us.
The spi bulges motionless in front of the mast.
Soundlessly, the bow shares the sea.
The wake closes whisper-smoothly.
Wind speed minus our own speed
Makes all the air seemingly calm.
Healy close to the horizon.
A silhouette is suddenly a yacht!
Sharp to the wind she passes briefly.
A cloud of sound is brought along.
With bow water like breaking glass.
Tapping of winches, short and swift.
The running rigging with much grinding.
Echoed between passing rigs.
Just one reverie and she is out of sight.
Pursuing her course across the sea.
Two worlds move.
A gentle breeze blows with òns.