March 18 2016
We are floating softly in a horseshoe-shaped anchorage, fringed with coral reefs, on a sea of silver like a mirror. The rising, waxing moon is a brilliant white shield, a beacon of strength and comfort, and we can see the sand below, whiter still. It is night. Innana, the morning and evening star, shines above. There are four other boats here at Fowl Cay, two on which we have good friends: Valinor and Solmate. Tim and Dorothea and Steve and Karen came over for cocktails. It was our turn and we had a great time.
After they left we turned on the country music that we know not everyone loves as we do: Lucinda, Dixie Chicks, Ray Le Montagne, Iris Dement, Johnny Cash, and so forth, and we are rocking out, grilling lobster we caught. And now I am writing.
The water is smooth like a mirror, a sea of milk contained within the dark, and the low rocks of the horseshoe surround us with loving arms, darker than the midnight blue sky.
What a fabulous life and yet. Relationships take work, even in Paradise. I am not the only one who thinks this way. Perhaps not the only one on this vessel. But here we are, two people afloat, working together to make dinner, to bring up and set the anchor, to sail, to keep each other alive. It is good.