Red sail is a fish out of water as it is upon the water. Fire is placed upon the sea. The voyage is an impossible levitation, a trans-dimensional spark from sources unknown. Red sails launch forth on a mission of defiance. Tempting fate and visible for miles, a shock of red hair dances, with Promethean abandon, atop a bed of toppled rain. Impertinence. Warm impermanence. Elemental incongruousness.
Bemused, the gods elect to withhold the standard litany of woes. The journey’s length and breadth surprises jaundiced eyes. Red sail is an incandescent bestowal of glorious arrival. Ports of call feel favored at receiving the wake of this approaching flame of life. Its improbable triumph shimmers through a host of perils. As most are bound to fail, the miracle of winter sun red-limned across well-travelled sails is cause for celebration. As long as there’s sun, there’s life. The voyage continues. Ah indeed.
Some are bound to fail
Some are winter sun, ah!
–from ‘Some Are’*
*Lyrics are subject to broad conjecture, all rights thereunto appertaining.