Mute

Moon is like a tiny little sliver tonight. At least this week it's back in my sky.

My weekend started early and ended late. Mr. jones and i spent two of the four days in the beautiful beach town, a town where we were going to meet for the first time. Mieux tard que jamais, oui mon amie?

Tell me why then am i pensive tonight?

Ah, the cruise.

It was a cruise that followed the setting sun, led by its funny old captain - a veteran of sailing many a seas. As his voice got drowned in laughter and oohs and aahs, at sea lions passing by on a floating buoy or dolphins diving in and out of ocean water, champagne was poured into the glasses to reach the celebrating lips. Of groups - each a set sporting the exact same cardinality. The first prime number.

There were nothing but couples everywhere. If one came in matching tee-shirts complete with customized phrases, another were all dressed up as if they were on their way to some prom. Young, old, buoyant, shy, there were all kinds, celebrating the romantic notion, the fragile feeling of momentary oneness.

When the sun was about to set, and everyone was scurrying down to the bow to capture the golden beams of twilight as fragile as their togetherness, there appeared a boat at the horizon. Right by the setting sun. Three sails up. Picturesque.

Reminding me of the forgotten sail on ours.

Wrapped and tied around the boom there it remained, waiting patiently to let the wind free it of its fabric existence. Standing by the port side, i waited for the same freedom. It never came.

Then it was dark. The sail went to sleep in its anchored boat, tied to the boom, just like before. Nothing could touch it. Neither the waves, nor the wind, not even the collective exuberance of semi-drunk couples finding their steps in the moonless night.

I was quiet for the better part of the evening. I couldn't help it.

What was it that i wanted to paint?

There was no canvas.