I am sitting in the cockpit of our saiboat. The sun has now gone down, but the sky retains some small traces of light. A few fluffy clouds look light grey against the light blue sky. Pink streaks flow in pastel lines in the sky just above the lights of town, the last trace. Of the sun which has disappeared over the horizon. Birds are cooing on the breakwater. The red and green bouy lights flash in their set patterns, marking the channel. The water is like rippled glass, lapping softly on the hull and the lights from town dance across its surface. As if in tune to some silent melody. The low rumble of an engine can be heard far in the distance. Directly off the stern of the boat is Pilgrim's Memorial. Its 25 story thin granite structure awah in light. A dog's bark can be heard from across the water. The flag on the stern hangs limp as the gentle breath of the wind hasn't the strength to disturb it. The heat of the day has dissipated for now. Distant sounds of voices and music can be heard faintly from shore, but here in the cockpit I am insulated from the frenetic pace of the town coming to life at night. It is beautiful, peaceful here in the cockpit and I am content.
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