Wednesday, June 23, 2010 6:55 AM Somewhere off the coast of Virginia…?
On watch now in the early morning on the RV Heraclitus. Where are we? Somewhere off the coast of Georgia? North Carolina? Virginia? It varies depending on who you ask. The map where we plot fixes every four hours says Virginia. I could swim the 150 miles to the mainland and visit my aunt Gracie in Dinwiddie from here. The mind wanders to these crazy ideas about things and, out here, they almost seem possible. Out here, in the "nothing but blue," magic seems possible. It is such a nothingness that even nothing is filled with something-like the warm, heavy air at dusk that carries the sounds of voices in the distance. Yesterday, I thought I heard them as I did the deck check, walking portside along the red-painted side of the ship. It was a gruff voice, giving muffled orders. Then a woman's high-pitched laughter. They are faint sounds I hear out of the corners of my attention. When I really stop to listen to them, however, they disappear. The same goes for visual images. At sunrise, I watch the horizon for other ships. We are so small out here at 92 feet compared to the cruise liners and the cargo ships. It is important that they see us or they may squash us. I search the orange sky and the dark ocean- where the two meet- and see nothing until finally I think that I see a ship. It is a white line perpendicular to the horizon. Then I think that I see another, and another. It is a convoy of white-masted vessels, coming at us. Grey hulls and wooden beam, sailing with the wind. I squint at the horizon for a closer look and, of course, the image fades away. Ghosts of the sea. They are gone and it is only us out here in the vast expanse of blue.
-Lyn-Li
On watch now in the early morning on the RV Heraclitus. Where are we? Somewhere off the coast of Georgia? North Carolina? Virginia? It varies depending on who you ask. The map where we plot fixes every four hours says Virginia. I could swim the 150 miles to the mainland and visit my aunt Gracie in Dinwiddie from here. The mind wanders to these crazy ideas about things and, out here, they almost seem possible. Out here, in the "nothing but blue," magic seems possible. It is such a nothingness that even nothing is filled with something-like the warm, heavy air at dusk that carries the sounds of voices in the distance. Yesterday, I thought I heard them as I did the deck check, walking portside along the red-painted side of the ship. It was a gruff voice, giving muffled orders. Then a woman's high-pitched laughter. They are faint sounds I hear out of the corners of my attention. When I really stop to listen to them, however, they disappear. The same goes for visual images. At sunrise, I watch the horizon for other ships. We are so small out here at 92 feet compared to the cruise liners and the cargo ships. It is important that they see us or they may squash us. I search the orange sky and the dark ocean- where the two meet- and see nothing until finally I think that I see a ship. It is a white line perpendicular to the horizon. Then I think that I see another, and another. It is a convoy of white-masted vessels, coming at us. Grey hulls and wooden beam, sailing with the wind. I squint at the horizon for a closer look and, of course, the image fades away. Ghosts of the sea. They are gone and it is only us out here in the vast expanse of blue.
-Lyn-Li
posted by Nikki Lyn Pugh | 12:05 PM
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