Serene Morning Sea
Serene Morning Sea
By Tony DeLorger © 2013
The shoreline glistened with morning light, the warm golden glow shimmering like silk and diamonds on the gentle lapping surface. A single gull circled overhead, its lonely cry echoing across the cove, reverberating in the stillness of awakening day. On the sand, tiny crabs shuffled their way from their rocky shelters into the vast open landscape, momentarily stopping as if to smell or sense any threats or danger. Unseen, the gull above, too high to see its breakfast, simply glided in silent bliss, the sun's warmth like a reassuring embrace.
On the other side of the rocky northern escarpment and in the shelter of a man-made mooring, fishing boats, sail-boats and dingies rocked gently on a bed of translucent aqua, their anchor ropes groaning as they tightened and loosened with movement. On the shore, more gulls congregated to pick at the remnants of yesterdays catch, occasionally their screeching cries and squabbles broke the silence and seemed to bring cognisance to the waking village on the hill.
Soon curtains parted and minds began to clear, looking to the vast skies to measure the day's weather. Coffee pots bubbled and the smell of crisp toast, sizzling bacon and eggs filled the air; pale blue smoke spires from the morning fires gently rose in the stillness. And as these familiar aromas imbued the village, the sea beckoned and the sounds of rubber boots on the march, like a rumble, joined the morning cacophony. From all corners of the village the fishermen alighted and followed the cobblestone paths down toward the moorings, their arms filled with lovingly packed lunches, nets and paraphernalia.
Loved ones watched from their quaint quartered windows and prayed for a good catch, while children wished they were going, dreaming of the day they too could join the men and learn to tap the seas plentiful bounty. On the wharf, a few men stood motionless, staring out across the glistening water, it's calm a little ominous, as if all were still asleep, in waiting. Other's readied the boats, stowed gear and positioned the nets and buoys, ready for action.
As the boats made their way out through the mouth of the marina, the gulls left the shoreline and squawked excitedly as they circled the boats, ready to scavenge what they could when the nets were at work. White seas trails from the boats suddenly disengaged as each vessel headed for its favourite fishing ground, vying for the best catch and the honour of most successful catch, a village tradition.
As the boats became lost in the vastness of sea, the sun became full over the horizon and the serene morning became day. What the sea would bring was always the question, but whether calm or angry it was the live-giving blood of each and every inhabitant of that tiny village, the dreams and the dread of every soul. But they we all a part of it and it a part of them and no matter what, they were where they should be, where their hearts belonged.
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