An English Summer 20

 

A contagious madcap hilarity builds, as we attempt a 'selfie .' We are sat, dangling our legs over the ancient stone wall, outside the Ferry Boat Inn, sampling its wares . (Your scribe in the blue polo shirt, stage centre). 

A chance exchange, of texts, had revealed that, my sister and her soul mate, were camping, only ten miles from Dittisham. Thus the impromptu family reunion was born. I arrive by ferry.

It is the archetypal summer Sunday afternoon. Dinghies flit by, racing amicably, on the top of the tide. The sound of genteel wit, drifts across the sun spangled river, as the fleet round the windward mark.

We catch up, on family news and plans, avidly. Making up for our, covid-cancelled, Christmas get together. Gazing out, over the cool green waters of the Dart, toward Greenway Quay. On this most perfect of Midsummer's Eves.

Stargazer waits patiently, on her mooring. Boom guyed out, to permit her solar panels to harvest the energy of the sun, at its zenith for the year, unimpeded by shadow. Watching, as high cloud overhead, builds into the 'mackerel sky,' which foretells today's blow.

After all, this is an English summer, which does not care to be taken for granted. Today, the Summer Solstice, dawns drear and grey. The wind whistles and moans, high up, on the green hillsides. The first rain of this trip, morris dances upon Stargazer's deck. This is the English weather reminding us, that the adept juggling of passage plans, is the making of a cruise under sail.