In Harbor

Not long out of school I sailed in my first race, after spending the night on the boat in the harbor at Oriental, NC. Surrounded by fish houses and docks, we shared space with other race boats alongside enormous wooden shrimp trawlers. I was enthralled, telling myself I had left everything and gone to sea.

Harbors are magical, lying at a threshold between the security of the land and the freedom of the sea. In them I see a place of gathering between going away and coming home. These collections of masts, booms, lines and woods transcend the limits of time and circumstances, tempting my imagination to venture into other possibilities.