Blue Canvas Promise

We were driving up to Maine on Sunday.

Going to a Daytona 500 party. Bummer, racewise. An almost 7 hour rain delay. We got to Maine at 12:00. Race started around 1:30. Rain delay started around 2:15. We left Maine around 6:30, got home around 8:45 and the race was just then re-starting.

Helluva party, though.

Anyway, we were driving up. The ride is pleasant; we take the back roads for a good chunk of it and the scenery is soothing and ripe with personality.

We are be-bopping down the road and I see up ahead what looks like a field full of blue tents. Somehow elevated and lined up like soldiers.

I had no idea what it was and could not understand what a field full of tents was doing out in the February cruelty.

It was a boatyard. A boatyard, baby. A purveyor of boats. The boats were all lined up expectantly and covered with blue tarps that were raised above them like tents.

The promise of spring was laid out before us. The promise of exquisite warm weather, lakes and oceans calling out with joyful potential, barbecues by the water, late night drinks under a gentle moon and even gentler breeze, laughter, conversation, t-shirts and shorts, peaceful contemplation, escape from life's hard edges; friendship, family and fun.

The boats are sitting quietly, patiently and bursting with potential. Reminding us that the winter that won't quit has no choice but to quit.

And when it does, we will breathe again and feel human. Feel alive.

Blue canvas promise, baby.