Windy pleasures

I love boats...
The way they just slide away... effortless... across the water. Especially, sailboats. Like the one I'm watching this very instant, as I write this, going up the Douro river... No motor, no sound, but the water hitting the hull, the wind hitting the main sail... just sliding bye, with its tall sail up in the air, breezing away, leaving nothing behind, but a trail of pure envy... Oh, to be a sailboat...

Rivers have a will of their own, and it's destination, is seldom unknown, beeing it one of two directions... The quietness of a lake however, allows the silence of those inevitable wind absent days, to point out guidelines for your journey within the confinement of the lake... And then, there is the open sea... Oh, to be one with the wind and the waves...

Just imagine for a moment... having the wind, stubbornly waving your hair in your face, constantly reminding you that if your eyes are blindfolded, you may not see where you're heading, but you're still moving towards freedom... endulge me, and let the wind win a battle or two, close your eyes and trust the Ocean, the wind, and the water under your vessel... you are free... indulge in windy guilty pleasures...

And now, you're crossing swiftly what you know to be a vast repository of timeless promisses, dreams and sorrows, scattered bottled messages with unspoken words... pebbles thrown in rage... whispers shared with seashells... secrets best kept at the bottom of the ocean... each of them, forever locked within a wave that travels tirelessly to the shore, and back again... endless waves of secrets of different shades of blue, intertwining, like braiding on a summer dress... Oh, to have not shared one single secret... still, you float above them... like driftwood that refuses to sink, in spite of all the tears shed for centuries on distant beaches...
Alas, the pier keeps me tied up with one of those intricate knots, sailors use...

Oh to cut the rope...
Would I go off, into the distant horizon, would the wind have dropped by then, or would it blow me back to Póvoa de Varzim every single time?
Oh, to be reunited with my hostage heart...
Did I mention , I love boats?