She sits alone, still serene and dreaming
Her days of sailing the seas long gone
No longer facing the open waters,
She dreams of high tides and strong winds
I walk towards her, braving thistles and nettles, camera in hand
I start to snap away caught in the moment
“You cant go there!” a voice booms, yet unheard by me
“You cant go there – its private property!” he booms again
I turn around, unperturbed
“Oh” I say surprised
“I had no idea, was just following where my camera was leading me!”
“Oh i have to tell everyone” the ‘Port Master’ tells me “Its private owned land”
This tiny patch of abondoned thistle-covered land is actualy owned?
I explain that I have always been drawn towards the coast and boats and love to take photos of old sea vessels. We chat awhile.
“Well go on then” he relents when he sees I mean no harm
He explained that the owner, obviously a local fisherman had died many years hence when Masie was in her heyday
This son of the fisherman was to take Masie over and to proudly sail her once again
Sadly for whatever reason, this never happened
The son never comes near
And here she sits as the years roll by
Landlocked, trapped by time and wild flowers
The Port Master warms to me and I to him and we chat on.
He explained that in the recent tidal surges they had to tie poor Masie firmly down for fear of loosing her. But all she wanted was to break her fettles; to be free to roam the seas again
The nearby fisherman’s buidings had all flooded badly in the tidal surge he said, the sea coming a third way up the walls with possesions washing away on the tide. No land beyond here could be seen, only vast unending waters; the tidal defences here are not kept in order he explained.
“Who was Masie?” I asked expectantly, longing to know her story, but sadly he did not know.
Way back in time, was she perhaps a girlfriend, a lover, a daughter, maybe someone lost on the tide of memories. We shall never know.
So here she sits, Masie; beautiful and serene, her glory days of fishing the high seas still very much evident.
She is worn yet ageless; she has seen life but never lost her spark
I sense an affinity with this old graceful lady. I can see myself dancing on the tides too…
So she silently sleeps and dreams; she dreams of the tides, of sailing free and forever leaving her dry dock behind her.
And in her dreams she bobs forever up and down, up and down, up and down, as the tide ebbs and flows in the beautiful moonlight
Dream well my Lady Masie for I too shall one day join you in your dreams….
‘The Keeper of Scrolls’