O bring me that horizon is what seems to whisper up against the dinghy's hull, and her single sail flaps in a changing breeze. Little ripples of water, as though invisible fingers were being swept over the wave tops, run up against the swells to splash in cheerful diamond shards against the wood.
(All men will be sailors then)
A curlew rises and falls in sweeps against the flickering wind, confused at the sudden gust of warm updraft, and somewhere a woman laughs in guileless delight.