I’m pretty sure, in theory, ships can ride the wind almost completely keeled over. I imagine an experienced sailor can make a dance of it, a lithe circus performer leaning at a wild angle as her horse gallops around the ring. And maybe I do that, too, in a way that seems so easy to me that I don’t notice.
But I like the calm seas. The hours and hours of nothing pressing that allow for a slow start, a day spent primarily in pajamas where thoughts slide into naps and the sun slides across the sky: plenty of time left yet for doing something, if you really must.
It settles the system to unplug all the wires. To sit and listen to the lake and notice how it sounds different now, how spring is announcing itself far in advance.
It’s like the sigh of shuffling cards, letting each rib slide back into place, letting the busy days finally pull back, a sucking tide that reveals glittering stones and beach glass and things not yet worn smooth.
And the sun shone and shone on all of it, and the world turned without me at the wheel, and the course, she charted herself.
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