Zen Again 16

 

Good Friday, in all senses:

Stargazer leaves, a deserted Dover harbour, with the dawn.

In twenty knots of breeze, out of the south. Spray driving aft, from an exuberant bow wave. 

Hard on the wind. Angling south west, from beneath the chalk cliffs. 

To weather the Dungeness spit.

Riding the tide. Swooping down the rhumb line. Making eight knots over the ground.

Able now to ease sheets. For a thundering broad reach. Stargazer flying straight and true.

Into the Sovereign Harbour lock.