Sailing

I set the sea shell in a port tack, but in primitive rage against my sailing, the green infuriate hammers of the sea beat the boat dazed as its white fragility was bombarded repeatedly by the savage waves, and the wind slammed deep in the thin sail, its frail order weakening under the convulsed battering, until the boat bent, bowed toward the water, hovering, until the sail rived with a scream to upright me.

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