I scoop up a clump of sargasso weed to inspect its many camouflaged inhabitants. Tonight the moon rises as the sun sets, and the two giant mango-colored balls briefly dance a fiery celestial tango. When darkness falls, it s just us, the moon, the stars, and the phosphorescence. Long before the islands become visible, signs of their proximity tease our senses. Boobies and other coastal birds, turtles, and insects appear.
Dolphins come to play near Firefly s bow.
Fragrant smells of earth and plants, of seashore and human habitation infuse our world, bidding us welcome. I can t wait to make landfall, but I am aware of wanting to ease back into civilization. St. John, smallest of the U.S. Virgin Islands, is the perfect place to do so. We ll drop anchor off Maho Bay, just as we did the last time we sailed in, on a December night in 1993. I think of waking the next morning and slipping over Firefly s side into clear, calm, cooling turquoise water.