Wavesong

 

 

 

It is almost midnight.The moon is high on it's final waxing night before full. Sitting on a piece of washed up old dock piling, I can easily see the waves as they file in one by one, anxious to share their part of a never ending story with the awaiting shore. Some speak with unrelenting authority as they crash upon the sands, while others speak softly and with purpose - much like a librarian shares a book with a group of young children. I try my best to listen to them one and all as they each have something to say. Their individual sea story of their journey across the ocean.
    Yet their wave-song carries my thoughts back to when I was a much younger man, myself journeying across the oceans. Though some thirty five years removed, I still recall vividly the private moments I shared with the ocean. Moonlit nights like tonight, recused on a secluded weather-deck sponson. Listening to the sounds of my ship's bow cut though the water, and the waves arguing back against her hull for daring to interrupt their travels. Though I thought myself a salty sailor and seasoned man of the sea, I was barely more than a naive boy at the time. Yet I was still aware enough to recognize the rareness of the opportunity that lay before me. The chance to listen to the sea as she told her story, and to allow her song to fill my soul. A song she offers freely, asking only for undivided attention and time in return.
    It was good to hear you again my old friend. Thank you for your music.
Until we meet again.  
PA
April 25, 2021