As you walk along the jagged rocks, you are conscious of the slime green moss that is wet and slippery. The ancient formations are hard on your feet and cause you to feel unbalanced as you make your way to the shoreline. It smells of dead marine life and salt but comforts you in a strange sort of way. You crouch on a massive rock that has sat in its place since the beginning of time. Witness to the hardships the cold dark waters have brought upon us. As you look toward the horizon, you see faintly an outline of a ship. It appears as an apparition under the cover of dusk and squint your eyes to see if it is real.
Your face becomes wet with each crashing wave, sprayed toward you as a way of offering from its host. It wants you to feel its refreshing mist and taste it’s salty body. You are unbothered and feel grateful. This beautiful shoreline with its towering lighthouse has provided a watchful eye to sailors of many lifetimes.
As it grows dark, a sliver of moonlight outlines the clouds. The ghost ship has disappeared and the fog horn blows loud. Vigilant keepers warning sailors of the unsettling haze that has covered the little sea town. You muffle your ears to block the noise. You sit still, your senses heightened, unable to discern what is front of you. Your ears become attuned to the crisp movement of the waves. You hear the seagulls mewing, happy they caught a fish. As your turn to navigate the way back to the paved road, you notice the beam of light, extending from its historic perch and signaling its presence and unwavering protection.
Thoughts from 3am 