The Yacht With Red Sails

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.