Voyage

The harbor is alive with prayers and expectations, fishing boats jostle, make ready for outward bound, crews on their mettle load tackle, check rigging, as nets are dragged on board, sailors determined to grapple with fate, angry weather, the sea. It's early, the sun is beneath the horizon, seagulls are chattering, merchants are rising to lay out their merchandise ready for sale. The shore now a dot on the cloudless horizon, fair weather augurs a bountiful catch, calm ocean a'glitter with sparkling reflections, no breath of a wind, it's the engines' propulsion that draws them to where the best fishing is waiting, the nets are flung overboard, first pass is a triumph, the deck overflowing with slithering fish on their way to the ice. Another cast and the ocean's abundance is manifest, luck's on their side, so they set course for home, but they meet with a change in the weather's benevolence, carving through waves that would challenge the best. All hands on deck as they struggle to stay afloat, fighting with fortitude, praying for safety, swearing out loud at their fickle misfortune they stay at their stations and battle the danger. Seventeen hours of constant cacophony, orders yelled, and obeyed with a wink or a nod, until there was sunshine, the wind in abeyance, and sighs of relief that the boat was intact. The sails were in shreds and the mast was in splinters, but all the men thankful they came through alive. The catch was recorded, the biggest in memory, safe with their sweethearts until the next time. Last Modified: June 04, 2015 at 02:55 pm © bickerstaffe - all rights reserved Author Notes ...an exercise in imagery with no conventional rhythm or rhyme.