We set off under a starry pre-dawn sky, the wind gusting at what felt like 25, not the 15 knots predicted. But that was alright with me. We hadn't had any big wind sailing up the coast of Spain so far, and I was ready for a fast sail.
David buckled me into a life jacket and harness. I didn't argue though I would have liked to be free of these things. Tragedy and loss have made him a cautious, safe and smart sailor, and I love that about him.
I felt, more than saw, the sea swell around us as David took us out beyond the cape that had sheltered us for the last three days. The breeze shifted from the north east, the wind generator spinning like a dreidel in the confused air, and he raised the sails. As the boat heeled starboard and the sea rushed by us I remembered why I love sailing. The huge crescent moon on the horizon would be our guide until it set and the sun came up.
I slept a while down below, with my life jacket still on, rolled up on the side of the cabin as the boat leaned with the wind. When I came up again the sun was bright and I took a turn steering the boat.
After a while David went below to sleep, me promising to wake him if anything changed. The wind remained fairly strong, the sun kept it's ascent into the sky, and I enjoyed the solitude of being the only one, besides the birds and fish, as far as my eyes could see.
Before long, as in so many peaceful moments in my life, the losses of the last year (or last thirty) came to my mind unbidden and unwanted, and with them the familiar feelings of sadness and regret. Is it a human condition that these things always arise in a mind? Or is it just me?
I let them pass under me like the flowing waves and watched them go.
David smiled up at me from the companionway, up from his nap. I looked up and I saw.... land.
A few moments later my phone connected to a cell tower and we learned about the violence and killing in Manchester.
David's daughter lives in Manchester.