A small, sturdy boat, bright blue and red, eager to feel the wind and touch the water, impatiently pulled at the strings holding it back.
The boatman sat on the bank, he and his wife had spent many days making this new boat. He wanted to look at its gleaming colours and perfect body one more time. His hands hesitated on the strong rope; he didn't want to take the boat out; he knew she would never be the same again. He could feel her tugging but he didn't want to let go yet.
This was his own boat, the very first he had built for himself. His eyes shone with pride as he looked at her. He looked around the river, his boat seemed to be the most beautiful of them all. His heart felt heavy at the thought of his boat becoming like the others. He thought of the harsh sun and the lashing rain; he saw his proud boat admitting defeat; tears came to his eyes as he saw the wreck she would be reduced to.
He looked down at the boat again. She was bobbing excitedly, tugging at the rope furiously. The gleaming paint caught the sun, making the boat glow with joy. A wind from the water ruffled the boatman's hair. He held the rope tighter; the boat felt like it would break away any moment. He got into the boat and set it free. His heart lifted as he felt the boat moving, one with the water and the wind.
