The light had long gone but there was no mistaking where they were. Through the moonless night came the rhythmic pounding of the waves as always the salty air moved gently over their skin, wrapping them around as the warmest of soft towels.
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 gray. To see the rich timbers, strong browns close to black, brought a sense of peace inside, perhaps akin to that given by a meadow. Yet for the next few hours, 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.
On the edge of the ship, Michael was enjoying the view with Cindy by his side. Since he heard fishing calms one's mind and soul, he bought fishing rods from Sarton after leaving Mary's flowers.
"Oh come on brother Ghost, when will you catch something?"
