I'm standing in the main cabin of an old-time sailing vessel. We must be someplace offshore, as I can see green hills on the horizon, through the cabin window.
Blue water reflects the light of a lovely day.
The horizon, the hills, and the blue water move rhythmically up and down, as the ship heels with the waves, port to starboard, starboard to port, never still. An unlatched cupboard door slowly creaks open and shut, in time with the boat's motion. I'm rocking back and forth as well, and I begin to reset my balance, legs braced to compensate for the vessel's sideways tilting. I'm prone to mal de mer. I once spent three weeks on an old Navy minesweeper, criss-crossing the north Atlantic in November.