With Ships the Sea Was Sprinkled

With Ships The Sea Was Sprinkled

There are those who expect to fly, soaring up over familiar landscapes to disappear, like Dorothy, behind a rainbow.  Others, including some who profess empirical knowledge, plan to make their way down a hallway of light where those long departed stand waiting.  For myself, I have always dreamed of a ship.  With full sails and towering masts, like a galleon of old - a sea worthy vessel to bear me away, far away, on a journey as mysterious as it is unavoidable.

I have thought a lot about ships this year.  They have sailed through my dreams in fowl weather and fair, tossing and turning in nightmare, drifting along on the glass-smooth sea of an afternoon reverie, but never far out of sight in my mind’s eye.  My mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer one year ago.  Difficult as ever, she decided against surgery and refused any type of home care for as long as possible.  We were fortunate that she drifted, rather than lurched, into the dying of the light, which was finally extinguished early this morning. 

No matter our age, do we all feel a bit orphaned when our last parent dies? Having known this day was coming all year, only today do I realize how much tension I have been swallowing, wrapping it up tightly inside me to appear efficient and solid to the rest of the world.  Only now do I feel the raindrops of exhaustion beginning to hit my shoulders.  I fear they shall become a torrent  in the coming days.  

After the rituals are over and the crowds have all gone,

 I shall slip off by myself to the seaside,

 till my feathers are smooth again, till my nights are untroubled.

I shall sit by the sea.

And think about ships.

William Wordsworth and I were born on the same day in April.

Perhaps that is why he can express my feelings so much better than I.

With ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh,
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;
Some lying fast at anchor in the road,
Some veering up and down, one knew not why.
A goodly vessel did I then espy
Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
The ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a lover's look;
This ship to all the rest did I prefer:
When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where she comes the winds must stir:
On went she, and due north her journey took. 

William Wordsworth

I shall return before long.

Much love to you all, 

Pamela