Thoughts on how I am suspended by the temporary absence of my man.
(Photos from my archives)
Now we are on the side of winter. The midpoint has been passed.
In the mornings I rise before light, the wind moaning through the house like an unhappy ghost in the silence. That silence that sinks to unknown depths just before dawn. In the distance the sea booms, I feel it under my feet as though in the night we have broken our moorings and slipped away into dark waters. I imagine the walls trembling with the weight of white water breaking on their steadfast sides. Our children sleep their deep slumber, dreaming of ships and narwhals, unfathomable dreams of briny blue.
All to soon, tentatively, the light creeps in, tapping at the window.
My mind returns to the day.
And all day the reeds tussle and toss in the bluster, the mountains loom out of the clouds, then fade into mists again, lost in the rains as the night draws in.
And the days whirl by.
The days whirl by.
The days whirl by...