sky scraper

I was … awake … in the crow’s nest but doing all I could to not nod off we had been through storms that day and all the previous night (such was the North Bering) so not a soul had slept ‘til now … all was quiet at ten bells the moon was in first quarter but as bright as any full … it had just peeked above the east reach bloodshot and misty (like the dead gaze of a friend I’d lost in battle) and it painted the planks in blood shining from their thin coat of frozen arctic fog … the decks were ghosted but for the first mate and he didn’t wander much on his watch, what with such icy footing … he stood statuesque by the helm watching the aurora shift shape and with the phosphorescent wake snaking behind us the scene made a breathtaking canvas of color and movement and I chuckled to myself, remembering a comment the captain had made: “Naught but black-on-black up the mast on night duty, lad - a sorry sea of oily emptiness!” … well, I’d known of better skippers, not a one yet I could tell he’d never spent much time as a scunner because from where I perched high atop the mainsail - the swells ticking off my time, there was so much more yes, so VERY much … more. Copyright © September 5, 2024 Gregory Richard Barden