Tucked In: A Day At Sea

Hello and welcome to this tucked in tale on InsideTimer.

My name is Mike and I invite you to get comfortable under the covers.

You can take a few deep breaths in and out and settle in as we listen to another soothing bedtime story entitled A Day at Sea.

Sweet Dreams Marina knows it will be a perfect day to go sailing.

The sun is just now rising on the horizon.

The sky edging from the darkest of blues to a soft gray where it meets the waves.

She can already smell the brine on the breeze drifting across the quiet harbor.

Her hands work with practiced ease as she unties the small sailboat from the dock.

The rough hemp rope sliding through her fingers to curl gently into a neat pile along the weathered deck.

The anchor comes up next,

Landing with a muffled thud against the wood.

Water droplets catching the first rays of morning light.

The waves whisper from underneath the dock,

Curling about the old,

Salt-bleached wood in gentle ripples.

And though the sun has not yet freed itself from the grasp of the horizon,

The dock still casts a long,

Blue shadow across the water.

The wooden planks creak softly beneath her feet,

As if greeting the earliness of the day with a drowsy murmur.

A firm push against the dock,

And then she's drifting away toward the open sea.

The ripples chase her sailboat as the gentle breeze pulls her away from the harbor,

Out toward the ever-brightening horizon.

She can hear the ocean breathing against the sides of her boat.

The water rushing softly along in her wake,

With a sound like a distant conversation.

The wooden deck rocks gently beneath her feet,

Rising slowly,

Then dipping back down in the ancient rhythm of the sea.

The horizon begins to glow now,

As the sun escapes the water's edge,

Climbing higher into the vast morning sky.

Light bounces off the rippling surface,

Warming her face,

As the sea begins to stir to life around her.

The sunrise unfolds like a slow blessing.

The sun spilling cotton candy stripes of pink,

And ribbons of orange light across the awakening sky.

The clouds from the night are slowly dissolving,

Transforming into no more than wispy mare's tails that stretch endlessly in all directions.

The air grows warmer with each passing moment,

Carrying the promise of a day filled with gentle adventure.

The gulls are the first to greet her,

Landing with a soft rustle of wings,

High up on the mast of her sailboat.

The sound reminds her of laundry drying on a summer breeze,

Peaceful and familiar.

They're a sign that she's not too far from her favorite fishing spot,

A small cove nestled against an island that is just beginning to appear as a soft smudge on the distant horizon.

She feels no need to hurry to reach her destination.

The entire day stretches ahead like an unopened gift.

The gulls seem to sense that she carries no breakfast to share this morning,

And they take off again with gentle calls to their companions as they catch the morning breeze.

The sun has climbed higher while she watched the gulls,

Sneaking into the sky with the stealth of all beautiful things.

It plays hide-and-seek behind the wispy clouds that drift across,

A sky now nearly as blue as the water beneath her hull.

And waves begin to sparkle with increasing life,

Dancing with more energy as the wind wrinkles the water into soft folds.

Up and down.

Up and down again.

Her boat follows the gentle dips and rises of the swells.

One wave gently slaps against the hull,

And a brief rainbow dances in the spray before vanishing like a whispered secret.

She trails her hand over the edge to catch the next splash.

The water is delightfully cool against her palm,

And she cannot help but smile.

The sea seems as eager as she is to embrace the unfolding day.

The waves deepen into a richer blue-green as her boat carries her farther into the open ocean.

Something flashes just beneath the surface.

A fish,

Perhaps.

Or something larger.

Another dark shape crests only a few yards away.

And she realizes with quiet delight that it is dolphins.

The pod must be hunting for breakfast,

And has decided to join her along the way.

Two,

Then three,

Break the surface in gentle arcs before splashing back down beneath the waves.

She can just make out the rest of the pod.

Dark flashes moving beneath the surface like living shadows as they zigzag ahead of her boat,

And then away into the blue distance.

One more breaks the waves far along the horizon,

And then they're gone,

Off on their own mysterious adventures.

Morning is fully awakened now,

And the sea sparkles as if the waves were lit from within by some inner fire.

The time has come to hoist the sail,

To make the most of the breeze that skips across her face with playful energy.

The sail snaps crisply as she pulls it taut,

And then,

In a crackling billow,

It catches the wind with a sound like a deep,

Satisfied sigh.

She secures the rope with practiced movements,

Then takes hold of the smooth,

Wooden tiller,

Worn to silk by countless hands and countless journeys.

The island grows larger now,

Still small compared to the distant mainland,

But full of wild,

Untamed life.

Even from this distance,

She can see the dense vegetation carpeting the steep sides of the hilly island.

Small,

Stubborn trees cling to the rocky edges,

Stretching their branches toward the sea like arms reaching for an embrace.

Thick vines climb across their trunks and wind over their branches in a slow,

Eternal dance with the island's ancient rhythms.

Only wildlife call this place home.

The island remains too small and too wild for human hands to tame.

Seagulls nest along the cliff-like eastern edge,

And their cries float across the water as her boat draws nearer,

A natural symphony welcoming her approach.

With a gentle creak,

She adjusts the tiller to the sound of the waves.

The boat responds like a living thing,

Turning slowly toward her destination,

A small cove tucked into the island's protective embrace.

The breeze guides her gently inside the sheltered waters,

And she furls the sail with reverent care before dropping anchor.

The cove may not be large,

But it runs deep and cool,

Home to bright-eyed fish that flash silver and gold in the dappled underwater light.

It is the perfect place for fishing,

And for finding the kind of peace that seems to exist nowhere else in the rushing world.

She prepares her fishing line with unhurried movements,

And then casts it gently over the side.

It lands with a soft plop in the water,

Creating ripples that grow in ever-widening circles before dissolving back into stillness.

The rod she secures to the rail,

Experience has taught her that patience is the fisherman's greatest virtue.

A perfectly cooked fish is always worth the quiet waiting.

Marina closes her eyes and breathes deeply,

Letting the sound of water rocking her boat fill her awareness completely.

The waves are much gentler here,

Protected by the cove's curved arms.

The motion becomes a soft rocking,

Back and forth.

As steady and soothing as a grandmother's rocking chair.

The breeze whispers through the furled sail,

And goosebumps rise on her arms.

The steep walls of the cove cast cool shadows,

And the air carries a different quality here than out on the warm,

Open sea.

She reaches for her well-worn sweater,

Pulling it around her shoulders like an old friend's embrace.

A sudden zinging sound comes from her fishing line,

And something has taken the bait.

She reels it in with careful attention,

And the brief,

Gentle struggle yields a beautifully sized fish,

Perfect for her midday meal.

Her stomach responds with a quiet rumble,

Reminding her that the morning's work has awakened her appetite.

Her small camping grill serves her perfectly for cooking at sea,

And soon,

The fish is cleaned and prepared.

The aroma that rises from the grill mingles wonderfully with the salt air,

And she keeps a watchful eye toward the sky,

Half expecting her seagull friend to come and eat her.

She turns to catch the scent,

And decide to join her after all.

The meal exceeds all her hopes.

The fish flakes tenderly from her fork,

Releasing delicate clouds of steam that speak of perfect preparation.

Cool water from her bottle provides the ideal finish,

And she sighs with deep satisfaction as she settles back against the boat's cushioned seat.

With lunch finished,

Marina prepares to continue her journey.

The sun has traced its patient arc higher across the heavens,

Finally reaching even into the cove's shadowed corners.

She raises the anchor,

Letting it settle on deck with its familiar weight.

The sail stretches out once more,

Catching the afternoon breeze as she turns the bow toward the open water,

Leaving the peaceful cove to the gulls and fish,

And the eternal dance of the waves.

The sound of tide meeting stone fades gradually behind her,

Until it becomes just another layer in the ocean's endless song.

Her eyes need several long,

Slow blinks to adjust to the brilliant light reflecting off the open water.

The waves have grown calmer since her morning passage,

And her sailboat glides across the surface as if it were made of silk rather than water.

The afternoon warmth returns,

And she folds her sweater away,

No longer needed under the generous sun.

Other sails dot the distant horizon,

Bright triangles against the blue vastness.

The ocean pulses with life,

Alive and thriving with others who love its endless possibilities.

None of those distant boats grow closer,

And she feels no need for their company.

The whispering waves and the calling gulls provide all the companionship her heart desires.

The afternoon grows lazy and golden.

She furls the sails and lets the current guide her where it will,

Surrendering to the ocean's ancient wisdom.

The morning's wispy clouds have vanished altogether,

Leaving the sky clear and polished,

Like a vast blue dome curved protectively over the sea and everything within its embrace.

She closes her eyes against the brightness,

And the sun's warmth draws her into a light,

Peaceful doze.

When she awakens,

The day has begun its slow transformation toward evening.

The sun hangs lower now,

A golden disc beginning its leisurely descent toward the western edge of the world.

She watches drowsily as it paints the sky in deeper hues,

Amber and honey giving way to richer golds.

The water around her boat has taken on a different quality,

Softer somehow,

As if approaching the evening has gentled even the waves.

She adjusts her position on the cushioned seat,

Stretching muscles that have grown pleasantly loose from the day's peaceful motion.

And the boat continues its unhurried drift,

Riding the swells with the easy grace of something that belongs completely to the sea.

Somewhere in the distance,

She hears the splash of a larger fish jumping,

But the sound seems to come from very,

Very far away,

Part of the ocean's quiet conversation with itself.

The sun sinks lower,

Ever so slowly,

Toward the western horizon.

It burns now like a forge fire,

Setting both sea and sky ablaze as it descends from its high throne.

The sky,

Touched by the sun's passage,

Flickers in embers of deepest gold and copper,

Fading to gentler roses and soft purples as the day draws toward its close.

The waves shine like a golden pathway leading directly toward the sun's descent,

Beckoning her to follow,

To chase the horizon before night finds her.

But she feels no urgency,

Only a deep contentment to witness this daily miracle from her perfect vantage point.

The sun hangs,

Suspended now between sky and sea,

Caught in that magical balance between day and night.

It seems to pause there,

As if reluctant to leave the world to darkness,

Clinging to the horizon until the very last possible moment.

And then,

With a final flash of brilliance,

It slips beneath the waves,

Leaving only whispered traces of gold and amber scattered across the water's surface.

And there comes always this moment,

Just after sunset,

When both sky and sea hold their breath in the gathering dusk.

The first star appears like a blessing,

Glowing high in the darkening firmament,

Twinkling like a diamond scattered on deep blue velvet.

It's soon joined by another,

Then another,

The night growing bolder with each appearing point of light.

Out here,

Far from any earthly illumination,

The stars emerge in their full glory,

Unmarred by the glow of distant cities.

The moon rises,

Full and luminous,

Hanging like a polished silver disc in the star's scattered sky.

Its light falls gently across the water,

Transforming the waves into liquid mercury that shifts and flows in ever-changing patterns of shadow.

The gentle illumination seems to quiet her thoughts,

Leaving only the murmur of water against the whole and the steady rhythm of her own peaceful breathing.

The night air carries a different coolness now,

And she reaches again for her sweater,

Pulling it close around her shoulders.

The evening breeze fills the sail as she adjusts the tiller,

Pointing the boat's bow toward home.

The sea smells different at night,

Deeper somehow,

Filled with mysterious and ancient secrets that only reveal themselves under starlight.

The harbor lights appear gradually in the distance,

Tiny pinpricks of warmth beckoning her home.

As Marina draws closer,

The familiar outline of the dock emerges from the darkness,

And she feels the bittersweet tug of a perfect day drawing to its close.

The sailboat bumps gently against the dock's edge,

With the soft sound of old friends greeting each other.

She slips the anchor over the side,

Carefully,

Mindful not to disturb the night's peace with unnecessary splashing.

The sails are quickly furled and secured,

Leaving only the simple task of tying up to complete her homecoming.

The course rope winds around the mooring post once,

Twice,

Three times,

And she tests it gently to ensure it will hold through the night.

The step from dock to deck is short,

But somehow significant,

Marking the end of her sea-bound day.

The wooden planks feel different beneath her feet after hours on the water,

More solid,

But somehow less alive than her boat's responsive deck.

And as she straightens from securing the lines,

The waves continue their eternal conversation.

Whispering a lullaby that seems to speak directly to her soul.

Hush,

They seem to say.

Hush,

Hush.

She pauses for one last look across the moonlit water.

Where her wake has already smoothed the way,

Leaving no trace of her passage except in memory.

The stars reflect in the gentle swells,

Creating the illusion of sailing through a sky filled with falling stars.

The night wraps around her like a soft blanket,

And she finds herself reluctant to break the spell by moving too quickly toward shore.

But finally,

With the moon casting her shadow long across the weathered dock,

She begins the quiet walk toward home,

Carrying with her the peace of a perfect day at sea.

The memory of sun and wind and water,

Becoming part of her dreams,

Even before she reaches the door.

And that's the end of our story.