Gossamer

Gossamer

Amidst a tangle of stainless steel wire, hi-tech rope, aluminum mast, poles, and struts flies Seaburban’s sails. Though not quite gossamer and substantial enough in their own right, the sails seem the flimsiest thing on board.

Yet they do all the work. Night and day they are up and what makes them work their magic is still not exactly settled in scientific circles. As a small boy, I was fascinated that something so delicate and formless could transform itself in the faintest of breezes into a machine that could carry you as far as you wanted, or dared, to go.

Tonight I was reminded of those long ago thoughts and dreams as I watched the last of the sun’s rays stream through the mainsail. How many other sailors have sat and watched that same sun shine through their sails, thinking the same thoughts, remembering the same dreams? Perhaps like the blue, it is a tie that binds sailors together over the ages.

My thoughts seem an indulgence when there is so much work to do. So much south and then east all the way round and only these gossamer sails to do it. The stuff of magic indeed.

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