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To end the week, a little poem on sailing. FOOTBIKE will be in Rimouski this weekend for the RALLY-CRUISE.

I am standing at the edge of the beach.
A sailboat passes in the morning breeze,
and goes to the ocean.
He is beauty, he is life.
I watch it until it disappears over the horizon.
Someone next to me says, "He's gone!"

Gone to where?
Gone from my gaze, that's all!
Its mast is still as high,
its shell still has the strength to carry
its human burden.
His total disappearance from my sight is in me,
not in him.

And just when someone near me
said, "He's gone!"
there are others who see it dawning on the horizon
and come towards them exclaim with joy:
"Here it is !"

This is death!
There are no deaths.
There are living people on both shores.

Poem by William Blake

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