masthead

It's a quiet, early Sunday morning. A handful of still sleepy sailors carry their coffee in paper cups from the early morning market back to the comfort of their boats. The masts of the tall ships, in this particular harbor, tower above the deck-hands below who are preparing for another day of two hour cruises. Set against a blue sky with wisps of high clouds, a fair wind whistles through
the rigging.
It's a good day for sailing.
Before time and tides changed, these were working vessels; laying trans-Atlantic cable, carrying blocks of ice packed in sawdust from Maine to the Keys, shipping cattle and produce from Cuba and South America. That long gone life at sea is like a distant memory in my mind's eye and in this world of Go-Fast boats and vapor trails I can only imagine that I remember how it used to be.


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