Peaceful

The sun is shining brightly, refracting off the green-brown waves of the river in a blinding fashion. The wind is blowing softly, causing the halyards to clang loudly against the mast, the flag to flap absentmindedly, and my hair to shift ever so slightly around my relaxed face. The wind carries several strange, yet familiar and comforting scents; the sharp, piercing smell of the gasoline and diesel at the fueling station and the greasy stench coming from the vents behind the kitchen at the clubhouse that make my stomach rumble in anticipation. The wind carries other things too, not just scents and feelings, but comforting sounds as well. Familiar sounds like the elderly couple a few boats down, quietly conversing, their affection for each other easily distinguishable in their tones, and the occasional metallic clang or wooden bang coming from the repair shop a few hundred meters away. The water sloshes gently against the side of the boat, flowing with the current of the harbor and excited by the passing boats. This also causes the boat itself to rock and the rubber bumpers protecting the sides to squeak quietly. Mom is moving around below, humming quietly to herself, the sounds of the old wooden cabinets and drawers occasionally creaking open and closed. I feel relaxed here. But when we take the boat out, gliding gracefully down the river and being pulled along by the wind like an eager dog pulling its owner towards the park; I feel truly at peace. Under sail, I enjoy the feeling of fighting against the wind to rapidly pull the sails into the correct position and listening to the click-clack of the winches, as they’re cranked, the plastic casing on the lever cracked from years of use. Here, for a period of time, I’m not me anymore. I’m not the friendly fitting room attendant at Winner’s or a bubbly grade 12 student. I just am. It’s my favourite place to just… exist, without the categories of everyday life.