Oh the waves crash in and the tide pulls out
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out
To warn the lonely sailor
The lightning strikes and the wind cuts cold
Through the sailor's bones to the sailor's soul
Till there's nothing left that he can hold
Except the rolling ocean...
The alarm was set for 5:30, but I woke long before it went off and was dressed and out the door by that appointed time. Husband opted to stay in bed after I promised not to go into the water, but foregoing this trip was out of the question because it is the last day of my summer. I raced; in fact, I fairly flew.
A few months ago now, I purchased several of the Transatlantic Sessions recordings. I had wanted to do so for years, but they are somewhat rare and somewhat expensive, so I put it off again and again. Then there came a time when I was so desperate for relief from grief that I gave up and in. I was right to covet them so long... they do soothe the soul and seem to have become the soundtrack of these days. I usually skip the song quoted above, but this morning I played it in constant rotation.
The grass beneath the tower turnaround was apparently not on the breakfast menu... only the same adolescent three point buck was there. I took some blurry shots with Chris' camera (since mine also lost its fight with a storm or a wave, however you look at it) and moved along because sunrise was fast approaching. There were a lot more people on the beach, probably curious to see how much it the hurricane had carried away. The answer I would give might range from 'enough' to 'a lot;' both would be accurate.
I wanted the perfect shot, of course; a cap for this summer. I also wanted the perfect shell...some significant talisman to carry me into the new school year... but there was very little yield. The camera battery was dead after I was just getting started. Oh well, let THAT idea go. The shells were different. The storm had thrown the heaviest clam shells towards me and they wouldn't fit in my jar. I tricked the camera into a few more shots because by now the sun was really rising and IF I could manage to compose and snap quickly, before the warning of the exhausted battery, it would indeed allow me my souvenir. In typical fashion, I beat that dead horse. The poor dear.
I remained true to my word and did not go in, although I have to admit, even though I was being careful, I almost got wet because things are not exactly calm or predictable yet. The sun rose. There were some shells in my pocket. And it was time to go. I leaned on the cold metal railing of the boardwalk as I have so many times, looked east and wept. I don't know what movie the idea in my mind came from, but I was thinking that I needed some one's hands to break through my ribcage and hold my beating, bleeding heart. Witness it, in a way, and at the same time safeguard it. I feel as raw as that image, after all. [ The couple who came running to find me on Friday morning came by and we spoke briefly. They wished me well at school, I added I would try to make it on weekends for a while yet. I will see them again. They try to come, even in the dead of winter, they said. ]
Stepping off the boardwalk toward the parking lot, low overhead there was a familiar V formation of geese... and immediately my mind went to that poem by Rachel Field that Caroline recited in the poetry reading at school a few years back: "Something told the wild geese it was time to fly./Summer sun was on their wings/Winter in their cry!" I wondered if it is that simple... step off the wooden planks, flip the switch and step back into school? Heading away from the beach there were COUNTLESS groups of deer, many (particularly bucks) I had never seen. It is shocking how quickly you can identify something that you assumed was indiscernible from another. The bucks' antlers and even their stature stays with you. The does have the quality of their coat or the shape of their ears to help with the 'don't I know you?' The fawns? Even some of them are cuter than others, and now that the weather is getting cooler, not just age is changing their now fuzzy spots.
At home the house is still and I fight with Chris' camera as much to download as I did to shoot, and while I do a friend I sent a birthday package to chimes in with a message via this internet miracle: "Oh C---! Many and profound are my thanks, my smiles, my songs for you! " Before we promise each other more words later, I am weeping again, this time in gratitude. We laughed together on the phone in a way I did not think possible on Friday afternoon when the full weight of the smackdown with Earl was on my body and mind, but there are years to be grateful for... years of regard between us, and his voice again and again a thread in my consistent plot.
The song of the sailor is a hum in my mind, and most likely will be throughout the day and into tomorrow:
The distance it is no real friend
And time will take the time
And you will find that in the end
It brings you me the lonely sailor
And when the sky begins to clear
The sun it melts away my fear
I'll cry a silent weary tear
For those that need to love me
But I am ready for the storm yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm
----- ready for the storm
~ Kathy Mattea / Dougie MacLean
Transatlantic Sessions
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wv4Wpychxh8&p=46CDF2CFE502F215&playnext=1&index=30
All photographs and text, unless otherwise noted, copyright (c) 2010 C.M. Carroll
It's an angry sea but there is no doubt
That the lighthouse will keep shining out
To warn the lonely sailor
The lightning strikes and the wind cuts cold
Through the sailor's bones to the sailor's soul
Till there's nothing left that he can hold
Except the rolling ocean...
The alarm was set for 5:30, but I woke long before it went off and was dressed and out the door by that appointed time. Husband opted to stay in bed after I promised not to go into the water, but foregoing this trip was out of the question because it is the last day of my summer. I raced; in fact, I fairly flew.
A few months ago now, I purchased several of the Transatlantic Sessions recordings. I had wanted to do so for years, but they are somewhat rare and somewhat expensive, so I put it off again and again. Then there came a time when I was so desperate for relief from grief that I gave up and in. I was right to covet them so long... they do soothe the soul and seem to have become the soundtrack of these days. I usually skip the song quoted above, but this morning I played it in constant rotation.
The grass beneath the tower turnaround was apparently not on the breakfast menu... only the same adolescent three point buck was there. I took some blurry shots with Chris' camera (since mine also lost its fight with a storm or a wave, however you look at it) and moved along because sunrise was fast approaching. There were a lot more people on the beach, probably curious to see how much it the hurricane had carried away. The answer I would give might range from 'enough' to 'a lot;' both would be accurate.
I wanted the perfect shot, of course; a cap for this summer. I also wanted the perfect shell...some significant talisman to carry me into the new school year... but there was very little yield. The camera battery was dead after I was just getting started. Oh well, let THAT idea go. The shells were different. The storm had thrown the heaviest clam shells towards me and they wouldn't fit in my jar. I tricked the camera into a few more shots because by now the sun was really rising and IF I could manage to compose and snap quickly, before the warning of the exhausted battery, it would indeed allow me my souvenir. In typical fashion, I beat that dead horse. The poor dear.
I remained true to my word and did not go in, although I have to admit, even though I was being careful, I almost got wet because things are not exactly calm or predictable yet. The sun rose. There were some shells in my pocket. And it was time to go. I leaned on the cold metal railing of the boardwalk as I have so many times, looked east and wept. I don't know what movie the idea in my mind came from, but I was thinking that I needed some one's hands to break through my ribcage and hold my beating, bleeding heart. Witness it, in a way, and at the same time safeguard it. I feel as raw as that image, after all. [ The couple who came running to find me on Friday morning came by and we spoke briefly. They wished me well at school, I added I would try to make it on weekends for a while yet. I will see them again. They try to come, even in the dead of winter, they said. ]
Stepping off the boardwalk toward the parking lot, low overhead there was a familiar V formation of geese... and immediately my mind went to that poem by Rachel Field that Caroline recited in the poetry reading at school a few years back: "Something told the wild geese it was time to fly./Summer sun was on their wings/Winter in their cry!" I wondered if it is that simple... step off the wooden planks, flip the switch and step back into school? Heading away from the beach there were COUNTLESS groups of deer, many (particularly bucks) I had never seen. It is shocking how quickly you can identify something that you assumed was indiscernible from another. The bucks' antlers and even their stature stays with you. The does have the quality of their coat or the shape of their ears to help with the 'don't I know you?' The fawns? Even some of them are cuter than others, and now that the weather is getting cooler, not just age is changing their now fuzzy spots.
At home the house is still and I fight with Chris' camera as much to download as I did to shoot, and while I do a friend I sent a birthday package to chimes in with a message via this internet miracle: "Oh C---! Many and profound are my thanks, my smiles, my songs for you! " Before we promise each other more words later, I am weeping again, this time in gratitude. We laughed together on the phone in a way I did not think possible on Friday afternoon when the full weight of the smackdown with Earl was on my body and mind, but there are years to be grateful for... years of regard between us, and his voice again and again a thread in my consistent plot.
The song of the sailor is a hum in my mind, and most likely will be throughout the day and into tomorrow:
The distance it is no real friend
And time will take the time
And you will find that in the end
It brings you me the lonely sailor
And when the sky begins to clear
The sun it melts away my fear
I'll cry a silent weary tear
For those that need to love me
But I am ready for the storm yes sir ready
I am ready for the storm
----- ready for the storm
~ Kathy Mattea / Dougie MacLean
Transatlantic Sessions
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wv4Wpychxh8&p=46CDF2CFE502F215&playnext=1&index=30
All photographs and text, unless otherwise noted, copyright (c) 2010 C.M. Carroll
