Those spectacular occasions when it all conspires in your favour, when the people, the place and the moment are perfect. And those ‘black, liquid, effortless birds’! The boat, too, ‘horse-like in her strength’.
Send me descriptions of such moments now and then.
Source: Adam Nicolson, The Mighty Dead: Why Homer Matters (London: William Collins, 2015), p. 4
Photo credit: 12019 at pixabay
The wind was a big easterly, coming in gusts over the Mayo hills, the sun white and heatless. George, and my son Ben who had joined us, were asleep below. There were shearwaters cruising the swells beside us, black, liquid, effortless birds, like the sea turned aerial, and a fulmar now and then hung in the slot between the headsail and the main, flying with us on the current of air. The Auk surged on the wind that morning, heeling out into the Atlantic, churning her way north, horse-like in her strength. I don’t know when I have felt so happy.