It was midnight when we pulled away from the dock of Patmos. The moon had risen and was playing hide-and-seek with its watery twin behind intermittent clouds. The water was like glass and the lights from the town and monastery sparkled on the water as we slid out into the night.
The wind was but a breath that filled our nostrils with the smells of sea and land, fresh and clean. The sea and sky were shades of slivery grey, merging into a blurred line of mist, half water, half air, barely discernable.
As we neared the mouth of the bay we altered course, heading directly up the moonbeam, sailing into the moonrise.
As we rounded the island, lightening flashed in the difference, warning of inclement weather ahead.
Harnessed and clipped onto the new bowsprit I watched the night slide by until my eyelids grew too heavy and I headed to my narrow bunk to sleep for a while.
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