When I clean my fountain pens, my favorite part is when I first dip the nib in a bowl of clean water. As soon as the tip of the ink-drenched metal touches the water’s surface, swirls of color enter the pool. The coils of ink remain distinct from the clear water for long enough to snap a photo before the color diffuses and liquid becomes a lighter shade than the original ink: watery mint instead of emerald, pink instead of deep purple.
I often wish we could color the air in the same way. When we sail on Claytor Lake, the squirrelly gusts that whack the sails and feel like they’ll knock us over make me think of the coils of ink in my bowl of water, or the swirling currents in the ocean, of the eddies that form when rushing streams catch on fallen limbs or squeeze between boulders.
This swirling happens with air too. We can feel it in the bowl of the lake when we sail our boat, with mountains that rise up around the water to block, catch, and redirect wind. But we can’t see the swirls, not above the surface of the water. Our one indicator is the lake’s skin: it puckers with the turbulence of swooping air that pushes the water with a thousand flicks, like blowing on soup that’s formed a thin skin. We can see the gust coming, but we can’t see the shape of it. We can’t see it swoop and swirl like a mermaid’s hair underwater.
Butterfly Mind 
I love that you wrote about those coils. When I sold fountain pens in the early 90’s, my favorite part of any week was NOT using the ultrasonic cleaner for technical pens, but the slower and more artful pace of cleaning a fountain pen a client had dropped of for its “oil change.” The coils. I would smile, my mouth would close and eyebrows up. It was joy. I smiled here, and started laughing and smiling some more as… I never wrote about that favorite time. I would have it, and then I would simply steep in it like fountain pen cleaning tea of an experience. So, thank you for writing so lovingly about the coils, Andrea. Much appreciated. Ok, now I’m going to go back up and read it again.
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I’m so happy that this brought back memories of that joyful feeling of watching the ink swirl! It’s funny how such a small thing can bring so much beauty.
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It really is, and it really does bring so much beauty to the fore. Makes me bring to mind to make a “mess” and continually spill some beauty on a regular basis. The mess that nourishes the world with no need to clean it up. 🙂
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I love your description of the swirls on the lake from the gust quickly approaching the sailboat. I too love to sail, and I enjoy thinking about the wind and it’s strange and curious paths it takes. The evidence it makes on your cheek, or the luff of the sail, or the swirls in the water are all you have to go by to anticipate your next move as you glide along by the force of the wind. Thanks for relating these two ideas together, ink and wind.
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Yes! When we first started sailing, I really struggled with feeling and knowing the wind. Even when it was more than a puff, I had to really concentrate to feel where it was coming from. Now I’m able to pick up more clues than I used to be able to, like the patterns on the water, how big the chop is and what direction the waves are angled, what the trees are doing, how quiet or loud is the clanging of the rigging in the marina when we drive up. I’m definitely still a novice at feeling the wind, but I’m getting better!
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