Juxtaposition - under sail
It's late Friday night, about 2 AM.
There is a light southwest breeze tonight and the water is glassy smooth.
The sails are drawing gently.
The moon has set and what few lights there are
around this lake are barely visible.
It's easy to imagine oak planks beneath bare feet, canvas sails,
the smell of tar and salt as we glide silently across the water.
I'm thinking this is what it must have been like 200 years past,
a wooden ship sailing by the stars alone.
Looking up and searching the familiar constellations I notice a
tiny speck of white light moving steadily across the heavens.
The International Space Station is sailing across the twenty-first century sky.
And I'm down here sailing across the 18th.