I first saw the yacht with red sails heading west, the day my father drowned.
He always was a keen boatman, though he’d been stolen by a riptide while trying to save Jess. The collie had swum too far out.
In his memory, I took up boating, and found why he loved it. Solitude, in a world of seven billion.
But solitude has a price. And now I pay it, dehydrated, sunburnt, my boat impaled on hidden rocks.
Coming from the east, I see the yacht with red sails. And I already know its captain, Jess sitting at his feet.