Monday, August 3, 2009
The singular edge of despair, it disappears like the ripple from a fish, and the water laps against my boat. There is no proper way to count the rings and be right. Have you ever seen the inside of my boat? Hardly a soul alive today knows how to sail such a boat. They say I am drunk with power now but who cares? Its true that I seem to be the best at sailing, but how could anyone say for sure? Have you got anything to drink besides ginger ale my friend? I wish I had done the packing.
There will never again be hell to pay, had you realized? Now that the world has gone to shit, its smooth sailing. Even with our mistakes and vanities, I can't imagine a consequence worth worrying about, can you? If only you knew the trouble I had been in before, shit.
Canned peaches or canned pears for breakfast Mr. Williams?
Neither, my friend. Its not breakfast time for me, I've been up all night steering this boat. But you can offer your question to my relief. He is expected on deck at a quarter to seven. Do you know the fellow? A Mr. Bobbingcock I believe.
Oh yes, I knew him before sir. We used to live on the same "street". We were neighbors.
Well, I expect that he is a fine and capable sailor, if they chose him to relieve me.
Oh yes, I believe he is very capable sir. He always kept a very neat lawn. A tight ship.
The waters were calm all through the afternoon and Mr. Williams swung gently back and forth in his hammock hanging below the deck of the great ship. God moved on that water and he slept lightly. His strong hands clasped over his round stomach, he looked very much at peace, almost dead. He could, however, wake into a state of almost complete readiness as he always slept fully clothed. He did dream now though, and his mind was a creamy blur. Horses were running through tall grass on the ground and he was running too. Behind and in front of the horses which were now dreamed into sheep and he reached his running past dream hand to touch their wooly sides. He pulled himself up onto its coarse and springy back now, careening down steep cliffs toward the ocean...the sheep he was riding called out to the others and they melted together a river of grey, yellow and white wool. He slipped in the sheep stream to and fro and called out
"How now!How now!"If only someone would hear him, but the wool was choking inside his mouth now and swallowing him up and suddenly he was awake with the light wool blanket wet at the corner from his sleepy drool.
Posted by sisters of the low cross at 11:06 AM