Pink. Orange. Gold.

I thought for the longest time that yesterday was Sunday. It doesn’t really matter. The day. Out here I don’t need to measure the world by days of the week. Just hours. It’s nice to loose track of something like that.

It’s midnight now. I look up. I look down. There are stars in the sky and there are stars in the sea. Phosphorescent and shimmery. I can see the seven sisters. I can see the Milky Way. I can see satellites. Moving. Slowly. Like me.

That is how I am speaking to you. Through satellites. My words bounce up into the sky. Space aliens catch them, roll them into balls and toss them back down to earth. Then they fall into your lap.

I am cold and wet. I pretend I’m in a wigwam. The hides of animals and the bark of trees surround and warm me in this place of my mind. It reminds me of the womb. I curl up and cradle my bent legs with my arms and float along.

The moon just rose and it’s juice spilled all onto the ocean. It was so brilliant as it climbed into the night that it startled me. At first I only saw it as a glimpse out of the corner of my eye and I mistook it for another ship. Which was equally as exciting because we have yet to see one.

I saw a piece of a ship the other day. It was not large. Rectangular-shaped. Fiberglass. I could decipher nothing beyond that. What it used to be did not matter. I just know that it used to be a part of something that was attempting to cross this same ocean.

I wonder, at my exact location, how many times have hands risen out of the sea and dragged a ship down to the bottom? Did that ship and the people on it deserve it? Or was the sea just lonely and looking for a new play thing. Everything likes a new toy to tinker with.

I hope the sea doesn’t want to play rough with me and Juniper. Maybe if I feed her bedtime stories she will calm down. And maybe she will fall in love with my stories and make sure that nothing takes me away from her surface so that she can hear more of them.

My friend, the moon, likes stories too. She is waning now and rising later and later in the night. She will continue this way until she is new. When she is new she will rise with the sun. If you don’t look closely, a new moon could go unseen, because it only passes the sky while the sun is up. I like all the moons, but the full moon is cool because she has a man living inside of her and he has a loving face. And because she rises near sunset and when she rises her colors are bold and reflect the falling sun. Pink. Orange. Gold.

There is a cloud in the sky that looks like an elephant with its trunk to the ground. I think the elephant is looking for ants.

There is a thump, thump, thump, plaguing me. I wandered, just now, for an hour searching for the source. Sava, who can’t hear it, said, “Whatever it is, do you think it’s gonna damage the boat.” I said, “With time anything can be damaging.” He said, “You’re right. It’s like Chinese water torture. A slow drip that eventually creates a hole in man and stones alike.”

I finally found the culprit of the thump. It’s the base of the boom gallows. I tried to tighten them but can not. I might have to shove something down in there. At this stage everything is cobbled together and my floral party dresses are hanging all over the boat pretending to dry.

Sava’s camera light keeps flashing its disco party. During the day we can not get the light to turn on. But here, now, alone in the night, it flashes for me. A lot. I am nowhere near it. I think the spirits like to communicate with me through lights and bells and whistles. Their lips are moving, but I can’t hear what they are saying. What are they saying? Maybe the spirits are saying “Hey baby, lets dance” or “This is my boat now, get off it you wench” or “Did you see how that shooting star was shining? You, in all your dirty, wet, saltiness are shining too.” I haven’t the slightest idea what they say.

Sailing is the best drug. That’s all I can say for certain. Out at sea, it is at the same time the most real that life can get and the most illusory.

Last night Sava mistook the outboard for a witch on a broomstick. He said she was floating straight towards him. Cackling.

He an Josh both know about the hauntings I’ve had onboard. I wonder if that’s effecting his perception.

I gotta tell them, the more you fear those that haunt, the more there will be to fear. That’s how it works. That’s how it all works. But these guys play with sharks in the water. They know how to pacify beasts. So they get it.

Josh seems to be the most embedded in reality now, but he sleeps the most of all of us. I think he dreams deep too. It’s often difficult to wake him for his watch. I shake him. I scream his name. Sava screams his name. I get next to his ear and yell “Rise and shine” with my red headlamp in his face. When he finally wakes up, I follow it with “Sorry.”

It’s afternoon and it seems that we all have found our groove at sea. Each of us has more energy than we’ve had since leaving Hawai’i. We are laughing, playing chess, giving each other pirate names and repairing all our broken parts.

I won’t tell you whose who, but onboard we got; Pirate Pickles, Pirate Sassafras, and Pirate Long-locks.

Us pirates fixed the fridge somehow. Taking things apart. Cleaning them. Putting them back together. Hopefully it lasts. Sava was the genius behind it. He said he didn’t know what he was doing. Was just making it up. I call him the faux electrician.

I think everything is on the up an up since we let those bananas go.