NONE OF THEM KNEW THE COLOR OF THE SKY
a short story
Waves caressed the hull of the boat as the journey continued. Off the coast of the Aegean sea the crew of devoted friends ventured. They'd been friends so long the word 'friend' no longer was worth even sputtering. The locals would stop and stare when they docked in small villages for a bite to eat. They heard the whispers and felt the awkward energy - it had become normal.
The journey at times was arduous. Rocky seas would lift the bow, creating an immediate and unexpected 45 degree angle. The sounds needed to deafen - and not those of the sea whipping the jib. The sounds of their voices - communication was key.
At times the tranquility and joy of being at the helm delivered pleasure in bounds. Twenty minutes of the direct glow of the sun against their face could energize them to no end.
Some would say they were unfit for the sea.
They scoff at such a notion.
They've been told the sky is blue.
They believed it to be blue - but can't be sure.
None of them knew the color of the sky.
They are blind sailors.