Big Yellow Moon

The stars were up there, everywhere. The stars and the big yellow moon and the warm night made me feel a total, empty-stomach kind of loneliness, and also, inexplicably, as though I was being watched.

An unusual perception, I would think, feeling watched when you're way out at sea with no land nor another boat anywhere in sight. Perhaps it was just me watching me. Or maybe it was me watching me watching me. Then again, it could have just been the big yellow moon.

I never sailed alone before. The ocean was calm and sort of waiting the way oceans wait, the wind hissing, sounding like a kid trying too hard to whistle.

I realized I was very close to feeling sorry for myself, which brought on a strong shake of my head, and then something that turned into something else which became stomach-twisting laughter. I eventually did a happy-dance on the bridge-deck so that whatever was watching me could see I wasn't afraid and I wasn't feeling sorry for myself any longer.

I began to sing a James Taylor song I couldn't quite remember; “There was a young cowboy, dhumm dum dhum dum-dhum..”

The waves soon grew stronger and the boat rose and lowered against the growing chop and sway of the sea. Whatever watched me continued to watch me as I hooked myself onto the jack-line and went forward to lower the main, and lessened the foresail. When I came back to the cockpit I was wet and happier than I'd ever been in my life. I sang out above the wind to the stars and the moon and to the green water as it rose and fell washing acoss the deck. I sang about cowboys, and women, and glasses of beer and for the rest of the night I was never alone.

291 Words