First Day and Night at Sea

First day and night out on the open sea, the wind lifts us up and we sail along free. Nine knots go singing past the bow, the land fades out, there’s only horizon now.

Waves are rushing, whitecaps dance, seasickness seemed to stand no chance. But then the tortilla, warm and good, sent me outside faster than I thought it would.

Peering into the dark, eyes on the line, the horizon helped — it passed, and I was fine. Later on, the food tasted twice as good, the sea gave back, the way I hoped it would.

At eight my first watch quietly began, I’d learned what to guard at night, the plan: heading, wind, a vessel closing fast — the others slept, I kept the watch at last.

The waves were whispering, a gentle tune, when an alarm cut through the night too soon. Kees woke up — the ferry chose its track, and kindly passed us by, no looking back.

Four hours flew by just like a sigh, then into my warm bunk I rolled — and it rolled me, oh my. Rolling I slept, and rolling I awoke, the morning tasted sour, however fair it broke.

A patch helped out where yoghurt failed, the sea kept rocking, my stomach ailed. But lunch was sunshine, music, bread so grand, baked by Kees — still warm, a loaf from his own hand.

Tuna salad, the water’s gentle sound, the sun, the sea, this little home we’ve found, and two fantastic guys beside me there… I’m one lucky lady, I declare.

/Tanneke