A poem by Mother Dearest
Lowena
Michael & Amanda Dyer
Wed 5 Dec 2007 15:16
Since reaching the Trades it's been downhill sailing; the twin headsails boomed out looking like a kite, diving down to meet the bows of our little ship.
My perspective of life aboard has been that of a train journey.
The huge rollers lift our transom high, in an effort to derail us, then
shake us from side to side, and finally drop us, ready for the next surge.
I am a passenger in this, our cabin, an old-fashioned railway carriage. A freeloader on this slow train to the West Indies. Occasionally we
speed up and it feels like an Express, mostly it's a Victorian steam train.
On Monday we got off at 43 degrees West. We needed to stretch our legs
and wander for a while. Gone were the Atlantic rollers, instead a level
sea and a game of hunt the wind, chasing butterflies along the flat, blue highway.
Bored with playing, last night the train reappeared at the next platform and we clambered aboard ready for the downhill, non-stop
ride to Antigua.