Solitude in a little bay all alone.
Bobbing, rocking, a soft rhythmic splas-s-s-s-h-ing and an even softer retreating sound of water on the pitted limestone shoreline.
| At anchor |
Water laps, boards creak, canvas flaps, ropes strain and squeak (although Victor tells me I am imagining any squeaking sound from the straining ropes as they are nylon today and no longer made of twine!)
Out of the blue . . . a mysterious rocking . . . turns out to be an unseen ferry passing a bay away.
And then the sound of a motor – Captain Tony is away to the town in the speedboat to collect fresh bread for our breakfast, and to visit a fisherman friend for the sea bass for lunch.
THE STILL
On another morning, the sounds of silence are quite different – there aren”t any!
The sky is lightening. On the mirror surface of the water in our secluded cove, I can see a reflected silhouette of the rough landscape, and a waning moon. And not a sound . . . or movement. Not a hint of a breeze, but I can feel the chill of the morn under my long night-shirt.
I strain to hear something . . . and ask the only other person on board who is awake what he hears . . . “only the voices in my head”, he says.
| Dawning |
Instead of any pinkish colouring creeping into what was yesterday’s clearest blue sky, there’s only more light. Finally, the absolute silence is broken . . . an animal sound . . . maybe the deer with the wonderful horns we saw on the beach yesterday has found his mate . . . this also wakes the insects . . . which like a minor orchestra, start to warm up . . . and a gull screeches from the wings . . . morning has broken!
Your writing arrests me.
Ahh, the clear blue waters seem so enticing.