There is
a small marina just at the mouth of the river.
Here, a bundle of quadratic-looking vessels are moored, bricks of white
fiberglass in strict rows. Daycruicers
with stripes or logos in fancy colours, all visualizing a forced hurry, proud
conquerors of any element. 200
horsepowers … 250 …. 275 …
Contemplating
all this sheltered speed, these champions in chains, I also try to look a bit
into myself. Possibly hoping that a
Sinbad, or even a Long John Silver shall emerge after a time of absence. That doesn’t happen. Almost frightened, I wonder if they might be strangled
under a pile of passed years, or stuck in a wilderness of apparently sensible
running about.
Partly
resigned, I let my gaze slip over to the other side of the river. That is when it happens. A
sudden recognition creates an echo.
It is the thrill of a thought, an ancient memory, maybe even from
unlived ages. I see an agreeable form, a
shape of a kind that feeds the soul.
Happily, I zoom in to the dream and the joy …
2 kommentarer:
Båten skal være av tre, akkurat som det var fra starten av, mye jobb, men det betaler seg i lykkerus når man kan putre avsted. Pent bilde og fine ord til! Ha en fin kveld.
Takk for det, Rune. Ja, trebåter ... bare den spesielle lyden av småbølgene som klukker mot en kjøl av treverk er vedt litt ekstra anstrengelse. For egen del våkner drømmen om en færing opp på denne tiden av året ... :-)
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