Wednesday, July 17th, 2024
Dear diary,
Today was quiet in the best possible way. Just the four of us - Mom, Dad, Liam, and me - out on the Korkyra 650, drifting beyond the harbor until the shore disappeared behind us. The sky stretched gray and soft above the horizon, heavy but peaceful, a calm blanket that seemed to muffle the world.
The water barely moved, smooth and glassy except for the gentle ripples from the mini catamaran boat beneath us. The soft hum of the engines mixed with the faint sound of waves brushing against the hull. It felt as if the ocean itself was breathing slowly, inviting us to match its rhythm.
Mom brought a basket of fruit: clementines, bananas, and oranges, and we ate them right there on deck, passing slices back and forth, laughing as the wind tugged at our napkins. The fruit tasted sweeter than ever, like the sea had somehow sharpened every flavor.
Liam leaned on the railing with his headphones on, staring at the water as if he could see stories in the waves. Dad stayed at the helm, calm and steady, his hand resting easily on the controls. The catamaran fishing boat glided without effort, smooth and balanced, its twin hulls cutting gently through the still water.
Mom stretched out on a cushion, pretending to read, though her eyes were mostly closed. I lay beside her, listening to the soft rhythm beneath us. Every sound felt amplified, the whisper of the sea, the flap of a page, the clink of a cup.
The sky wasn’t gloomy, just quiet. The light turned the sea silver and pale green, the horizon fading into a dreamlike blur. It felt like time had slowed down, or maybe we’d simply stepped outside of it.
We didn’t talk much, and that was perfect. A few small jokes, bits of laughter, the kind of silence that only exists when you are exactly where you need to be.
As the day faded into evening, a thin line of gold broke through the clouds, brushing the water with soft light. It shimmered across the surface like a farewell. Dad slowed the boat, and we turned toward the shore.
The Korkyra 650 moved easily through the water, steady and sure, just as it always did, part work boat, part adventure boat, and always the quiet companion that carried us to moments like this.
Back at the dock, we lingered longer than we needed to. None of us wanted to step off, to leave that peace behind. Some days are about the thrill of speed or the rush of the sea. But today was different.
Today was about stillness, family, and the kind of simple joy that stays with you long after the waves fade away.
The water was smooth and glassy in places, with only the occasional ripple trailing behind us. The hum of the engines was low and steady, blending with the sound of the waves lapping gently against the hull. It felt like we were the only ones out there, suspended in a world of gray sky and endless ocean.
Mom brought a basket of fruit—clementines, bananas, oranges—and we ate them right there on the deck, passing pieces back and forth, wiping our hands on napkins that kept fluttering in the wind. The fruit tasted especially sweet out there, like our taste buds had nothing else to do but really notice it.
We didn’t say much, and that felt right. Just small comments here and there, bits of laughter, the kind of easy silence that only exists when you're completely at ease. It felt like time had slowed down—or maybe it just stopped mattering.
As the afternoon faded into evening, the clouds shifted slightly and let through a pale, golden streak of sun near the horizon. It lit the water in a soft shimmer, like the ocean was saying goodbye for now.
We headed back to shore slowly, quietly, the kind of quiet you want to hold onto. I know not every day will feel like this, but I’m grateful for the ones that do. No rush. No noise. Just us, the sea, and a bowl of tasty oranges shared under a cloudy sky.