General

The sailing boat blossomed right there on the ocean, with sails as pretty as any petals, bluish in compliment to the sky and waves. The rest was all as solid as any oak of the land, warm browns that reminded me of home and hearth, of those quiet family evenings when jokes rise and swirl as eddies in water. Her bows met the water with a regal dignity, creating waves of her own, choosing her path with each passing moment.

General

The sailing ship was fashioned from ancient oak, with masts that stood as tall. Instead of its once green foliage it was adorned by sails of white to dove grey. To see the rich timbers, strong browns close to black, brought a peace inside, perhaps akin to that given by a meadow. Yet for the next few years the fragrance would not be of wildflowers but of the open sea, ever changing, ever constant, ever in motion beneath the clouds who sail above.

General

It's not that we expected plain sailing, or for winds to be kind, the waves to be gentle; it's that we trusted our ship to carry us to shore no matter the weather. It was a confidence born of faith, of feeling to our bones that with such tenacity we could achieve anything at all. They say it's only impossible until its done, that was our motto under all skies, upon all seas. We believed we could do anything at all... and so we did.

General

The deck was our land and the sky was our ever changing art, made so beautiful by the clouds. Many a day I let my dreams float up to them as kites, to be the colours that swirled within the white-puffed shapes drifting onward. I imagined my dreams to be playing with the birds, swooping and gliding as they did, reflecting the brilliant sunlight. Those planks, so weathered under the sun, took on the appearance of a wise elder, of one who gives advice, simple ideas that feel right because they are true. Between the given wind and the nudge of the rudder we sailed on as one company of souls.