Silver Solo Sail

It was quiet.  The breeze was more than I’d seen since the last full moon over Alum Creek, which isn’t saying it was much.  It just wasn’t making any water lap against the hull nor sails slap against the rig.  It was just enough to pull me along at a knot-and-a-half up the lake.

There were fewer crickets tonight, and they were quieter as well.  I could hear them on both sides of the lake at the same time tonight.  An owl was hooting between the dog park and the camp ground.  It seemed loud, until the train on the tracks three miles away sounded off as it passed each country road.

Lifeline didn’t glow as she did last month.  Tonight the moon was shrouded behind high cottony clouds that had held a line over the lake all evening.  The back of the front just wouldn’t push through for some reason. That just made for a softer glow from above as I came about to head back.

The wind just went away.  Lifeline glided along at two knots, then one point eight, then one point five, then one…and it kept gliding along.  And I started hearing hooting from the other end of the lake.  Now, I have no idea what was happening back at the marina, other than they were having a very, very good time.  The hooting I was hearing wasn’t another owl, it was the rising and falling of voices having fun.  I laughed to myself.  At one end of the lake it was so quiet a hoot owl could be heard across the water.  At the other end, a bunch of night owls were hooting to be heard clear out in the middle of the lake.

The moon must not have wanted to be left out.  With the revelry from the woods and a clearing cloud line, and the wind bringing Lifeline back to two knots, out came the moon from behind her shrouds, shining silver onto the lake and reflecting off the rainbow of leaves ashore.  The scene was one of Lothlorien in the Fellowship of the Ring.  This is what Tolkien saw that inspired him, I’m certain.  Lifeline reflected the same, her decks glowing with the magic spilling down from the sky.

I’ll miss this over the next couple of months, the quiet of the solo sail under the full moon. There’s nothing like this, whether here in Ohio, or down in the Caribbeanon a sailboat, or out in the ocean on the deck of a great big navy ship.  The Light made to rule the night is ever watchful in her waxing and waning.  She’ll be there in April, waiting to shine on us and the water again.

[Wordpress always uses the keywords and suggests other web log entries similar to the one I’ve written to be shared and/or linked to.  Tonight it suggested most of my last two months’ entries.  So, incase you missed some, enjoy scrolling backwards for a while.  Fair winds, Shipmates]

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