September 8, 1889
Dearest friend,
I have been the most remiss on recording my surroundings these past few days, so caught up in the adventure I have not yet endeavored to even include a faithful study of them. I shall attempt to remedy this now.
On the deck the sky stretches as far as the eye can see, meeting with the ocean at the very edge of what seems the world. Like the line of a landscape in a painting. The waves seem as small shimmering ruts across this wide expanse, seemingly smaller than they appear. Nowhere is there the sight of green or brown, only blues and grays, whites and brightness. The sun knows no boundaries and beats down on us but the clouds above seem as soft and fluffy as a down pillow.
I can see what S enjoys this so much. It feels wild, untamed. The salt sticky to the very air, the feeling of being alone in the world. The lack of rules and priority. It lacks the gentle calm of my small cottage and reeks of adventure and promise. It is rough, but thrilling. Dangerous and yet I feel safe along side S. To think I might have never strayed from my peaceful home, never seen, the swells of the waves, the swaying of the masts. The ocean itself seems to have beckoned me to a life free of the worries society has thrust upon me, I shall take this reprieve as the gift that S has intended it.
Dearest friend,
I have been the most remiss on recording my surroundings these past few days, so caught up in the adventure I have not yet endeavored to even include a faithful study of them. I shall attempt to remedy this now.
On the deck the sky stretches as far as the eye can see, meeting with the ocean at the very edge of what seems the world. Like the line of a landscape in a painting. The waves seem as small shimmering ruts across this wide expanse, seemingly smaller than they appear. Nowhere is there the sight of green or brown, only blues and grays, whites and brightness. The sun knows no boundaries and beats down on us but the clouds above seem as soft and fluffy as a down pillow.
I can see what S enjoys this so much. It feels wild, untamed. The salt sticky to the very air, the feeling of being alone in the world. The lack of rules and priority. It lacks the gentle calm of my small cottage and reeks of adventure and promise. It is rough, but thrilling. Dangerous and yet I feel safe along side S. To think I might have never strayed from my peaceful home, never seen, the swells of the waves, the swaying of the masts. The ocean itself seems to have beckoned me to a life free of the worries society has thrust upon me, I shall take this reprieve as the gift that S has intended it.