lilylove
Active member
here's a story i wrote about the transatlantic crossing i just did, as crew on a 35ft wooden yawl...
A clear night. More shooting stars than time would allow me to wish on, falling flakes dancing in the sky. A million remain though, not a square uncovered, and I wonder how there can be any stars left at all. The phosphorous in the churning ocean almost a reflection of above, sparkling as we slice silently through the sea. The only other illumination, excepting the compass glow, is an occasional red blinking seen in the distance amid the myriads of constellations. Quite apart from them though – unnaturally jarring and obvious. A moving target with none of the lingering magic of the meteors. An epileptic flashing I recognize well, though it’s been several weeks since the last.
I imagine them up there, eating their plastic meals and tuning into their plastic world. Each confined to their numbered spaces, a chosen cage. Cushioned chairs well accustomed to daily turnover, though showing few signs of wear or tear. They must endure this restriction for less than ten hours and yet have already grown restless. Relativity is only human though and perception will dictate the truth. Though I am bound to this boat – to its few meters – for over three weeks, I share their frustration and it is perhaps equaled in intensity. They drive themselves to distraction through a pixilated screen, I from a pixilated sky. A blanketed sky of diamonds from which, save for that sporadic scarlet signal, shines a natural world beyond understanding. I am humbled by it, feeling magnificently insignificant and I do not envy them their fuel-indulged independence.
A clear night. More shooting stars than time would allow me to wish on, falling flakes dancing in the sky. A million remain though, not a square uncovered, and I wonder how there can be any stars left at all. The phosphorous in the churning ocean almost a reflection of above, sparkling as we slice silently through the sea. The only other illumination, excepting the compass glow, is an occasional red blinking seen in the distance amid the myriads of constellations. Quite apart from them though – unnaturally jarring and obvious. A moving target with none of the lingering magic of the meteors. An epileptic flashing I recognize well, though it’s been several weeks since the last.
I imagine them up there, eating their plastic meals and tuning into their plastic world. Each confined to their numbered spaces, a chosen cage. Cushioned chairs well accustomed to daily turnover, though showing few signs of wear or tear. They must endure this restriction for less than ten hours and yet have already grown restless. Relativity is only human though and perception will dictate the truth. Though I am bound to this boat – to its few meters – for over three weeks, I share their frustration and it is perhaps equaled in intensity. They drive themselves to distraction through a pixilated screen, I from a pixilated sky. A blanketed sky of diamonds from which, save for that sporadic scarlet signal, shines a natural world beyond understanding. I am humbled by it, feeling magnificently insignificant and I do not envy them their fuel-indulged independence.
