The Queen’s Tour

Late season snow flurries on the salt air.  End of May on the North Atlantic.
Standing alone on the wharf.  Left blowing in the wind.  Waiting for a sailor to come up top and greet me.
Smiling eyes finally arrive.
Invited to come aboard.  A gentleman’s hand extended to help a lady onto the deck.
Brought up to the bridge.  Given the queen’s tour of the ship.
Not just anyone is allowed on board, you see.  “Only good-lookin’ ladies.”
Admiring the view of the harbour from the pilothouse — as well as the view of the Captain’s dimples when he smiles.
Talking and talking; taken in by those bright blue, dancing eyes.  Feeling the earth shift as the planets align.
Finally walking away; back on land and into the regular world.  Feeling validated from behind the fences of the Restricted Area.
A magical afternoon, with promises of more time together that evening.

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