Laying in the V berth, I hear the pitter-patter on the hatch above me. A low pressure has been moving in from the south for the past three days now, ever intensifying the rain.
The constant southern wind kicks up little waves that slap the stern and gently rock the boat in a soft swaying motion.
The water on the hatch let's me see clearly through the frosted lexan at the mast, towering above me.
I wonder what it would be like to grow up as a child on a sailboat, looking at these things and assigning them human qualities. Would they see the mast as a towing figure looking down on them or as a guardian that keeps a tall eye looking out over the horizon?
I rather do enjoy these rainy nights. I feel so much closer to the world around me. The rain outside is just above my head, the waves rolling by right next to my shoulders, the sea floor many fathoms beneath me; obscured from sight by the murky water. Always hiding what unknown life may exist below me. Everything is occurring so close by yet I am removed from the elements in my cozy berth, peacefully being lulled to sleep.