The wind heavy on my face
We sail above the waters
Gulls underneath and a sure death
should you plummet
This summer’s first all blue sky
and a sun failing yet to give warmth
in the early hour and the breeze
Children running, playing, elated by the wind the height the movement out to sea
On the way out into the Baltic we passed two ghost islands with skeletons of trees turned gray and bare, now the home of hundreds of birds, nesting. All the other islands had healthy lush grenery. But these two were dead, perhaps suffocated by the heaps of excrement covering them, perhaps home to a darker secret of the sea.
The hard vowels of the Finish language pushing through the barrier of my consciousness, calling for attention and leaving me blank, listening without understanding, neither the words nor their intensity, pitch or constancy.
I drink white wine from the Tax Free shop, and eat food I’ve brought. This is a budget trip, only 19 SEK back and forth to Mariehamn. No buffet today.
Beside me someone’s spillt a beer and cigarette buds are lingering in the small stream trailing its way down the deck. The butts are islands and the ash floats.