Blog

My dad died in 1993 when I was 29. He learned to sail a wooden boat on Long Island Sound, NY.  My sibs and I grew up sailing the waters of Puget Sound since before I could walk. When I went to Long Island to collect my dead aunt’s belongings in 2014, I arrived to sailboats bouncing around everywhere on east coast waters that felt like home, like he was cheering me on with dozens of calm white sails. If I think of him and look to the water from shore, I swear there is always one little sailboat way out in the distance, a tiny reminder that he is the wind encircling my shoulders. I honestly don’t dread dying because I’m going to see so many people that I love, it’s going to be a BONANZA.

Long Island Sound

I see it as it looked one afternoon

In August,— by a fresh soft breeze o’erblown.

The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,

A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.

The shining waters with pale currents strewn,

The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,

The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.

The luminous grasses, and the merry sun

In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,

Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp

Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,

Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep   

Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.

All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.

                                                        -Emma Lazarus