The name on the chart, Winnaker, tightened my throat. Funny how, decades later, a word can evoke a memory that evokes a physical response. It's a good thing the evil woman's name hadn't been Smith ... [+]
The birds sing As I sit in stagnant heat Hands on still oars, And the lake mirrors the sky So perfectly That I stand up and dive down Toward the heavens, And among the clouds, Before the water breaks my wings, I understand their song.