|
| |
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
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
|
|