I watch the ferries stitching back and forth across the water from Seattle, remembering when I have been on them. When I've been on my way to Bainbridge Island or the San Juans, or to well-loved Victoria, in company or alone.
The ferry docks here are not so idyllic as that above, but they are gateways nonetheless to adventure, to aqueous dreams unreeling, drifting free. Dreams with a deep green heart, persistent as the Amazon, as those Canadian fjords with oysters in their depths and days beyond recall.
Let me drift there, leaving the dock for uncharted waters, for crossings lost to time.
image: Yehuda Edri
when i visit. and i see 'no comments.'
ReplyDeletei understand.
sometimes reading what you write leaves one with a sense of such quiet.
no words but yours are needed.
talking about it takes from its power.
yet here i am. talking.
xo
just wanted you to know.
That is a very, very, very kind way of explaining the lack of visitors to my blog! It always makes me happy to have friends stop by. Thank you for coming regularly to my little “porch” to sit awhile with tea and conversation and together contemplate the view.
DeleteI've tried to comment before, and the comments vanished. Let's try this again. Hi Christie ~Darcy
ReplyDeleteIt's worked—thank you! And I did find some old comments of yours, so they haven't all vanished.
Delete