The Water Along The Shore.

The water along the shore,

Crashes without a sound,

Their waves bring emotions,

Across from other lands.

I close my eyes,

And count to three,

Breathing through my nose,

Breathing out through my lips.

The sand brushes my cheeks,

Blowing with the wind,

Kissing my lips,

Telling me that I am loved.

I sigh with my eyes open,

And sing the number three,

Looking for the sound of the waves,

That crashed along the shore.

The heat from the sun,

Beats down on my pale skin,

Turning it brown,

Looking for the summer touch.

I hum with my eyes blinking,

And count time in three,

The sound is coming,

Chasing across the sea.

The water along the shore,

Is the bringer of the others,

Giving us a sign of a life,

Beyond our own.

I sing out loud,

In time with three,

Sending my message,

Across, far and beyond

The water along the shore.

Water In The Boat.

 

I am swamped by the sea that floods my boat.  I am desperate in my fight to win.  But the water keeps on flowing, and the boat keeps on sinking.  Is it impossible to save what’s left of him?  Voices call out.  Hands grab at me.  I can’t die.  The memories must survive with me.

 

Over The Falls.

 

She stood there, eyes staring out at the wide expanse of green and blue.  This was her world.  The green hills of her home were covered the colours of autumn, and the water below, still, crystal clear.  It called to her, longingly.  Closing her eyes, she breathed. As she dived, she thought, this is home.

 

Freedom.

 

She ran down the ramp, her ties flapping away from her.  She was free.  There were shouts of outrage behind her as her hair blew wildly around her face.  But she didn’t care.  She had to thank her saviour.  Maybe one day she would.  But now, she was the sea, diving in to swim away.

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Twelve.

PART TWELVE>

It came when the pup couldn’t sit still.  From my place on the ground, in my sleeping bag, I squint in the darkness at the pup who is sniffing around the door.  Her nose runs along the trapezium shape of my tent room, and her growl escapes her lips with a sense of threat.  I tell her to shut up, but she keeps growling, growling until it erupts into a bark and then barking until she can’t stop, not even at my command. 

And then she does stop.  Her ears, still folded like a puppy, perk up, and her eyes look as the ears scan the air for noise.

It began with a rustle.  A scuttle, snapping of twigs, and the sound of a falling cup to drive the pup to the edge.  She barked and barked and barked, her voice commanding and angry.  She starts running around the tent room, past my head, my side, legs, feet, the door, and back round.  She can’t stop barking as she raises her forelegs to attack the walls of the tent. 

And I think, it’s just my imagination.  It’s just my imagination.  We’re in a farm, with no one around, it’s nothing, just the sound of nature, there’s no way there’s a murderer out there. 

My brother is already snoring, fast asleep.  I don’t know about my parents.  I don’t know if they’re still awake.  I don’t care, because I’m busy squeezing my eyes shut trying to sleep.  I try because I woke up at four in the morning.  I try because I’m tired, yet I can’t get it out of my mind that someone was walking to our tent.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that we are not alone.

I scream at her to shut up.  And she does.  I use my harshest tone and she sits, her eyes are wide as they look at me, just moments before she starts bending over, ready to roll on her back.  I have my arm raised, a threat to gently punish her nose, but she rolls over.

I smile, it’s cute, so lightly, I tap her nose and tell her ‘no’.  She understands, and while I settle back into bed, she stays quite.  But the minute I close my eyes, she starts growling and then, she barks again.  I tell myself, it’s a good thing that she’s unsettled, it means she doesn’t trust the area.  She’s a good guard dog for a little thing.  She’s a good girl.  But she wouldn’t shut up.  She’s at the door and she’s barking harder.  Hard enough to shatter my eardrums. 

I close my eyes and try to listen in between the barking to see if I could distinguish between the sounds, but I can’t hear a thing except the cricket. 

At last I’m frustrated and annoyed enough to slam the sleeping bag away.  I stand up, after a few sharp words to her, I grab a torch.  I take a peek into my brother’s room, but it’s like he’s deaf or something.  He’s not even showing a sign of life. 

‘Idiot,’ I mumble and fumble with her collar and leash.  She doesn’t stop squirming once as I put it on.   Even as I open the door, she’s the first out, barking like crazy. 

I don’t dare to talk.  I’m spinning horror stories in my head again.  One part of me is telling myself not to let her go too far ahead of me.  She might get eaten.  The other part was saying go slowly.  If I do, then maybe I’ll see the attack before it happens. 

I stick my head out of the tent.  It’s cold.  But a summer chill, that’s refreshing and not freezing at all.  I look left and right.  I can’t see anything and I dearly hoped there was nothing there.  Then slowly I take my foot out.  Left first, search for shoe, balance then steady.  Then I stick out my right and zip the tent up in one shot.  It’s a trial, but the minute it’s closed I’m on my guard, my torch on and looking around for the smudge of white.  She’s barking at a tree and I flash my torch that way. 

I see a pair of eyes in the grass next to the tent, and I screamed. 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Eleven.

It’s interesting, as I type up the stuff in my notebook how different the first parts of my journey to the middle of my journey were, I mean, I look at Part 1 – 8 and then Part 9 – Part 11.  The first part really concentrates on laying out a “setting” feeling and the second concentrates on “character” feelings…they’re really different.  I think I started to scare myself a bit too much in the second part,well, it makes sense, quiet places disturb me, and even though I’m a partial fan of horrors, it seems my imagination gets a little hyperactive at the chance to weave my own scary story.  Hmm…maybe in the future, I might turn my experiences into an actual story…

 

PART ELEVEN>

It was hot as we put the poles together for the tent.  The sun beat down on my neck and I felt the sweat drip down.  There was a cool breeze that blew from the sea below us.  We were perched at the edge of the land, yet if I were to go down to the water, I would have to walk a little further.  From where I was standing, on the edge of the flat earth, I could see the rows and rows of oyster sticks for the oyster farm.  It was a calming, breezy sight.  Very beautiful, very frightening.  For this to be so calm in this place that is so vacant, so alone, in the countryside, I’m not bothered.

I’m not bothered by the circle of caravans to our right.  I’m not bothered by the smoke that rises from them even though I can’t see anyone there.  I’m not bothered at all.  And yet, I can’t stop looking around every time I heard an unusual sound.  I can’t stop flinching even in the daylight. 

Again I remember that stupid movie. 

But I tell myself I’m not scared. 

I’m not scared at all.

We’re not alone.  Not at all.  People live here.  There’s an oyster farm, houses, caravans with smoke.  We’re not alone. 

So why am I unnerved by the sight of my pup wandering around sniffing the ground?  Why does it scare me when I can’t see her, just because she hid under the trailer and only her leash is visible?  Why do I try so desperately to make her eat and drink when she doesn’t want to?

As the afternoon progresses, my pup becomes more and more unsettled.  She can’t stop snelling everywhere.  She can’t stop moving.  We tie her to the gazebo, her leash long and free, but she wanders down past the tent I share with my brother, to the cliff edge.  And every time we had to haul her back.  She is unsettled.  And it makes me unsettled.  All of a sudden I can help but think, what she is smelling?  Even though I know that it’s a new place and that she’s not accustomed to it yet, I still can’t help but think, maybe she’s found something disturbing?  Especially when it’s the same spot constantly and when she constantly wants to walk down to the water through the long green grass and down a steep metre or two cliff.  It unsettles me.  Maybe she’s found a dead body?