2003-03-02......1:37 a.m.......
Day 3. En route St. Thomas

it's like a razor cut two paintings in half and then pieced them back together in the middle, hoping no one would notice the difference in blues. the sky is a color of light blue that you don’t see anywhere but on the ocean, such a light watercolor wash then, as it climbs, the deeper the hue. Then, the second painting, the ocean. all rippled and white capped, oil paint deep. Both meet at a seamless edge of contrast. Like two tiles clapped together, and like two mirrors, both reflecting each other. This is what I see right now, aft on the ship, not a speck or shadow of land, just calm roll after calm roll of water.

But there is enough variety on deck to keep me occupied. Big striped lounge chairs and beach chairs and towels lay tangles together over almost ever square inch of sun hitting the boat. People in various shades of brown and red are strewn on every available lounger and the rest are hunting for spots. My favorite is the piratey man to the left. He’s a true buccaneer with his white hair nearly covered with a red bandana. A squint occupies his left eye, while his right one scans the briny deep. His skin has been tanned deep tannery brown by the sun and only his few scars still show up white. Gallbladder surgery? Perhaps a bypass? No no, those scars must be from the edges of razored rapiers and the occasional hook, he would accept no less. The sun glints off of the gold earring embedded in his left ear. Pirate booty, no doubt. What’s this? The woman next to him taps him on his bare chest (surprised he can feel it through all that white hair). “Yah?” he says as he turns toward her. (I am ready to see him whip out his cutlass and gut her for her sass) “Jerr,” she holds up a bottle and waves it at him, “you’re gettin’ red. Better put on some 30.” And our heroed marauder is slathered in Banana Boat Sunblock.


...and all sing in harmony, i am ok...

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