We drift through a hush of pale-green water and half-formed mist in Cape Cod Bay, our white sail the only solid thing in a world that has gone soft at the edges. There is no shoreline, no horizon; only a quiet expanse where colour, depth and distance blur into one. The hull leaves almost no wake, and even the wind feels muffled. The silence is deafening. Seems like we have slipped outside time itself, a small, bright certainty floating inside an endless hush.
