A small boat bobbing
In a calm sea;
Light breeze,
Gentle sun
Oars at rest.
At one, the body bobs
Adjusting itself and adapting to the sea's motion.
The sun warms and the breeze fans.

An island!
A distraction,

A new direction,
A possibility.
The mind rises and floats and lands
On the island.
Searches for wood to burn,
For trees to hack and fences to build,
For chickens to pluck, for fish to net
and boar to chase.
Shall I be chief?

If I leave my boat, my feet will be wet,
If I stay I might lose my boat.
I might never bob along again!

Sand and shells between my toes,
Clear water lapping at my ankles.
Keep moving or your feet will sink.
Smell the air, taste the air and keep the boat in sight.

The white sand is hard to walk on
And leaves and imprint of every move.
The boat beckons
Back on board, away to sea.

No land in sight - a storm gathers;
Thunder and lightening and driving rain.
Crouching in the boat now, lurching through the waves, drenched and frozen,

Waiting for the lull
Which always follows.