Danger slides in whispers under the bow.
The horizon blends seamlessly with the cold grey ocean.
I search for landmarks
Until my eyes grow weary with the watching.
My craft is tiny and unsuitable, my hands blistered with the task of rowing.
I lift my oar to listen.
Birds perhaps, or just a sounding whale, it makes no difference.
My course is set.
I have determined that any direction is better than none,
even if it leads to perdition.
i've felt that sensation of looking till my eyes aren't sure what they're looking for anymore, many a time...
ReplyDeleteit's easy to begin doubting your senses; sometimes they let you down. let your heart guide you.