Andromache sees the bright side of a bad experience
|A respite from anxiety |
Under any other sail, it would be a wonderful voyage.
An adventure of a lifetime, the kind women dream about.
The smell of fish, and salt water. They cries of seagulls.
The vista of clouds rushing towards an endless horizon.
The groan of wood timbers as wind suddenly fills the sail,
And motion captured in the rhythmic splashing of oars.
Even in a sea of shattered dreams, there's still some good.
I'm surrounded by dear friends, ever about, trying to cheer me up.
But they're nervous, make no mistake...and who can blame them?
Keeping busy distracts from thinking too much.
The repetition of daily life, here at sea, is a godsend.
Women need a routine, a small bit of order, time to think...
In order to gird their fortitude.
The ship is seaworthy, new and brightly painted.
The hewn beams have the aroma of fresh cut pine.
The men are cordial and treat the women with respect.
There's, a regimen of daily exercise, rowing at the oars,
where everyone pulls together in harmony.
Each morning for an hour, we practice our maneuvers.
Under every condition you could possibly imagine.
And it’s not seen as a chore, but rather a ritual we enjoy,
The experience brings with it unexpected consequences.
Under the blazing sun our bodies have taken a dark hue
and what was once fat is now a slim and muscled firmness,
that’s pleasing to look upon, and not lost on the men.