The Heat Returns a Memory

I was sitting this morning, thinking of the heat and a memory returned of my time offshore.

It was early morning. The wind whistled in the cross-members of the platforms and the cold north wind caused me to pull my collar up. Turning my back to the wind, I looked at the approaching crew boat and the spray that coated the windows.

As I watched, I had time to observe the bright orange sky; filled with cirrus clouds; an orange so bright I had to squint my eyes. The Gulf was a deep purple and the chop broke the orange reflections into an impressionist artwork only allowed by those that are blessed with the experience.

Seagulls cried in the cold air, which was filled with the drone of the engines of the approaching crew boat. As I watched, it arrived, turned and the skipper appeared - heavily bundled - to back the boat so we could board.

After boarding, everyone, except me, went inside to seek the warmth of the cabin. I stayed. The moment was too special to release at such short notice. I stood at the rail for a few minutes as the crew boat accelerated. The occasional spray flew over the bow and misted the back deck. The cold air was intoxicating and I knew a special memory was being created; a memory too precious to ignore; a memory to last forever.