Matthew Roving was having fun. For the first time in what felt like centuries, a huge smile split his face, and all he wanted to do was laugh and laugh.
So he laughed out loud, even though there was only a hovering seagull to hear him and disapprove with a squawk. After all, why not laugh? Is there anything finer, in all the world, than sailing alone in a small trim sloop, before a spanking fresh breeze, with your brown bare toes curled around the handle of the tiller, and you with absolutely nothing to do? Nothing except, maybe, control the lines to the jib with your right hand to catch a fresh puff of wind, while your left hand tosses Reese’s Pieces into the air for you to capture with your mouth as they fall. Not even caring when you miss, because there are lots more where they came from.