The cold wind cuts to the bone, and gives no quarter.
Bracing myself against the onslaught, I trudge through the night, coming home from a long days work at an icy desk. Though a short walk from car, to dock, to boat; each step is agony.
Old injuries speak loudly when the cold wind cuts to the bone.
Warmth awaits belowdecks, yet strangely, I linger upon the pier. Gazing slowly around, I take in the trawlers, the sloops and cruisers around me. Up on the hard rest the weary, awaiting renewal with paint, props and the attention of owners and shipwrights.
Lights framed by glowing halos, the waterfront, devoid of wanderers to join me, brings warmth to my soul.
In spite of the cold wind, that cuts to the bone.
I am home.
Absolutely beautiful, Jim. Reading that was like curling up in a soft, warm blanket after a day in the cold.
--TwoDragons
Posted by: Denita TwoDragons | February 12, 2004 at 10:58 PM
Just finished the pasture sweep to make sure that there were no wet newborn lambs in the pasture that needed transporting to the barn; not that I'm worried, it's more of a habit. Most of the flock has been sold and the old faithful girls that are left don't really require any help unless they've got twins or triplets all tryin' to arrive at the same time. (Besides, tomorrow it will be cold; that's when they will arrive.) I wish I had the feeling of aloneness and being the only living thing around that you wrote about, but since I was accompanied on my rounds by 3 dogs, 5 cats, 2 horses and about 150 ducks (plus the sheep runnin' up to see if I was carrying FOOD!) instead of solitary quiet and peace, it was more me stumbling over various critters and cussin' at 'em to get out of the damn way, already.
Posted by: SwampWoman | February 12, 2004 at 11:41 PM
Home's a lovely place to be, isn't it?
Posted by: Da Goddess | February 13, 2004 at 01:42 AM
Hell Yeah. Home Sweet Home.
And I have rarely been able to just walk past a pier. No matter what the weather, I always have to stop and gaze, particularly late at night. In solitude, late at night, the loudest noises the clank of metal on metal, slap of ropes on wood.
Posted by: dragonfly jenny | February 13, 2004 at 12:24 PM
I live down South from you on Lavaca Bay. I walk in the evening times and all I have to do is go to the end of my street and look out over the bay. It's so pretty seeing the lights of Formosa and Alcoa twinkle in the night. When I make my way towards the front of the neighborhood I have a view of the causeway and hearing the thump of the tires and the splash of the water break against the bluff is so peaceful. I guess it's one of the perks of living on the coast.
Posted by: Becky | February 13, 2004 at 04:40 PM
Poetry, Jim. Just beautiful. Thank you.
Will snuggle under that blankets tonight relishing even more the quiet gift of being "home".
Snow is silently falling here tonight in north Texas. May the skies be clear over the New Dawn.
Posted by: Valerie | February 13, 2004 at 10:40 PM
Thank you, one and all. I received as many e-mails on this as I did comments here.
Fear not though, this won't turn into a poetry blog. *heh* That said, this was just one of those moments that translated itself more in verse than in the narrative.
My world is full of those moments, but it'd bore me and you to tears should I write of 'em all. After all, who wants poetry about the *($(#hole who cut in +@&%ing front of me on the #%?*+ way home, eh?
Besides, in the words of the bard himself: "A man's gotta know his limitations"*
. *quote, Clint Eastwood, as Dirty Harry
Jim
Sloop New Dawn
Galveston, TX
Posted by: Jim | February 14, 2004 at 07:36 AM