I imagine...being far out to sea on my family's floating home. We haven't seen land for days. More than a week.
There is no moon. Both kids are staying up late, not just the oldest, whose turn it is at "night watch" with his dad: a game of cards in the cockpit, a mug of hot chocolate, frequent attention to duty in the form of scanning for ships.
The kids have been looking forward to this moment of celebration. They have come to call it Equator Day.
The home we left all these years ago is in the far north. But really we have a home port not a home. And a home port demands only the most nominal allegiance. It is merely a place to be from, and the distance and duration of that "from" are immaterial, or all to the good.
So while our home port is in the far north, we've been in the southern hemisphere for four years and three months. The sailors' hemisphere. The half of the globe where the waves are free to run as long as they will.
In my imagination, the children have a dance party in the cabin as we approach the line. In my imagination, they dance to Icona Pop.
We realize that we have forgotten to pull in the fishing lines at sunset. On one I find a busted leader. On the other a chicken-sized yellowfin tuna that is a beast to reel in with the speed of the boat pulling against.
I imagine that as we cross the line I am on my knees on the side deck cutting the second fillet.
I imagine that after I have scrubbed the blood and gurry from the side deck my wife and I enjoy a tot of scotch. Neptune gets his first with a heartfelt imprecation for his continued blessing.
I imagine it is the third time we've sailed across the equator as a family. I imagine that I'm dreaming. With my eyes wide open.
This post was sent via our high-frequency radio as we're far from internet range. Pictures to follow when we reach internet again. We can't respond to comments for now, though we do see them all!