Villella spirit by in little flotillas, their glassine sails taking them effortlessly eastward. We plod on to the west motoring with 6 knots true wind on the beam, apparent well forward. The sea is calm, but the swell, lifting us as gently as one lifts a bed sheet, has returned. Flat matts of yellow Sargasso weed are more frequent now, some entangled with fishing line and bits of plastic. A Coke bottle, opaque with algae floats just below the surface. How is it that this holy place has become humanity's watery garbage dump?

Long and incoherent thoughts roll one into the other without purpose or resolve. It is a meditation. Looking out on this big circle of blue, takes me to places of the heart. Places I rarely venture. Sometimes the beauty envelopes me completely, and I am breathless. This day after day existence at sea is never monotonous, rather, a luxurious mind rest.

I bake Banana nut bread for breakfast which fills the cabin with a sweet warm scent. Our little band of sea voyagers, except for wishing for more wind, are content. (Although, I must confess, that after eating our last avocado, I did have a little cry.) Our crew are always engaged in interesting conversations, gentle jests, humorous observations, wit and general comradery. Sometimes we are noisy, bantering away all at once. Then we retreat, each to our into our own books, drawings -Kent-Harris is designing a boat-journals or simply to nap.

There is always something to do to keep the boat running. Fuel filters, and water filters, need changing, the engine is checked hourly and the Whisper Gen gets attention. We have had a strange coolant leak, and seawater came up into the engine room sink spilling into the pantry, each needed mopping up. Ever sensitive to wind shifts, we make lots of little adjustments to the sails, which keep us moving toward the goal. General housekeeping, cleaning heads, washing the floors, doing the laundry and of course keeping delicious meals coming despite conditions means each day is full. Navigating and logging-in is an ongoing ritual.

Canasta has replaced the cocktail hour. Tim beats us soundly each night, but we keep coming back for more. The wind is coming 'round. We adjust the sails and look out on a milky sunset.

735 miles to go, ETA Thursday afternoon. - SC