This is the last of the the silly sailboat whining. I promise.
The other day, on my way to somewhere else, I went by the marina where we kept Black Magic. I don’t know why or what I was looking for. Maybe meet the new owner? Maybe make sure Black Magic was being cared for? Maybe just see her one more time? Don’t know, maybe all of the above.
What I found was an empty slip. Black Magic was gone.
And as I stood on the floating dock, bobbing in the wake of a passing boat, staring at that empty hole in the water, I realized that she was well and truly mine no longer.
I thought back on the countless weekends working on her, the too few times sailing her, the times that Miss Carol and I spent weekends on her dreaming our dreams of endless voyages.
I think that some little part of me felt that if I could just see her, keep track of her, that I could somehow keep that dream alive. But, with her, it’s gone.
And, really, I’m fine with that.
But as I turned and walked back up the dock for the last time, feeling, for the first time, like an interloper, a trespasser, I couldn’t help but wonder what would fill the void.