part I
It's funny,in a way,that whena ship sets sail from port, it may leave in a storm and by the end of the same day find calm and peaceful waters among the same ocean. This is the conclusion of the dreamer as she settled in for another starry crisp night. The weather was unusual for the late summer month and that was suspect for the odd mood the dreamer was in at the moment. Nonetheless, she set course for a particular port and let the sounds of the waves agianst the boat and the exhale of the mighty gray whales lull her to sleep.
As the sun broke the horizon the next morning, the dreamer rolled to the starboard side and marveled at the sight of a gray wale lazily breaking the surface. As the whale's flukes disappeared beneath the surface, the dreamer streached and sat up enjoying the warm of the suns first rays. Leaving the hammock where it was, the dreamer took the wheel and checked the course to find that the wind had kept them on course through the night. Steering true to the course, the dreamer found the ocean beckoning, calling, tugging that primordial string to dive below the surface.
Two hours later, the dreamer gave into the sea's call and began to gear up. That was what the dreamer loved about the mahogony sailboat which was home, dive boat and mode of transportation. It was all the dreamer needed, that and the hammock. The dreamer hauled a tank from the cabin below and strapped on the old Sherwood BC that was crital to the vital life supporting gear. Next, with a sense of habit so engrained it seemed in-born, the dreamer opened the valve on the tank and gently wiped it cleaned. Opening the valve on the regulator system, the dreamer connected air to the most vital life line. Then came the most anticipated moment of gearing up, turning on the air. Hisssss! The needle on the gauge rose and settled where it should be at 3,000 psi. Wetsuit zippered, the dreamer clipped, velcroed and snapped the old BC into place and splashed off the side of the anchored sailboat..........
(To be continued when my creativity stops abandoning me)
As the sun broke the horizon the next morning, the dreamer rolled to the starboard side and marveled at the sight of a gray wale lazily breaking the surface. As the whale's flukes disappeared beneath the surface, the dreamer streached and sat up enjoying the warm of the suns first rays. Leaving the hammock where it was, the dreamer took the wheel and checked the course to find that the wind had kept them on course through the night. Steering true to the course, the dreamer found the ocean beckoning, calling, tugging that primordial string to dive below the surface.
Two hours later, the dreamer gave into the sea's call and began to gear up. That was what the dreamer loved about the mahogony sailboat which was home, dive boat and mode of transportation. It was all the dreamer needed, that and the hammock. The dreamer hauled a tank from the cabin below and strapped on the old Sherwood BC that was crital to the vital life supporting gear. Next, with a sense of habit so engrained it seemed in-born, the dreamer opened the valve on the tank and gently wiped it cleaned. Opening the valve on the regulator system, the dreamer connected air to the most vital life line. Then came the most anticipated moment of gearing up, turning on the air. Hisssss! The needle on the gauge rose and settled where it should be at 3,000 psi. Wetsuit zippered, the dreamer clipped, velcroed and snapped the old BC into place and splashed off the side of the anchored sailboat..........
(To be continued when my creativity stops abandoning me)