Secret, in mangroves
I feel like winter steals my creativity, my ability to think about new things in new ways. The landscape is as blank as a piece of paper, and that's how my mind feels. Or maybe it's just a lack of focus, an ability to carry an idea to completion, or the soreness in my joints from trying to trek through snow.
I also hate complaining about winter. Then again, I don't believe that I'm really complaining about it, more explaining my ongoing state of mind as I exist in suspended animation, of hibernation.
The picture above, of Secret in the mangroves, came this week. Maybe I feel like I'm as washed up as she is. Or maybe I just acknowledge that this is the time my body is the most in rebellion, the coldest.
I don't know. I'm dreaming, these days, about water, according to Jung a symbol of the subconscious. I dreamed I stood at the water’s edge. My mom had broken an acrobat’s fish tank, and fish and water spilled all around me. In another, I was washing the beautiful girl with water from the sink.
We cracked open another jar of our green-tomato salsa yesterday—two left. Many other jars of piccalilly and mincemeat, but they're not as delicious as the salsa. The three places where we attempted to store vegetables, in lieu of a root cellar, all destroyed the produce that I'd hoped to keep. The unheated front bedroom was still too hot, the broken freezer outside and the bus were both too cold. I roasted frozen cabbage the other day, and while it was edible, it certainly wasn't delicious.
These things depress me, more than they should. I'm working on a story about water, too. About a girl in boarding school, a missionary kid, a swimmer. I spent the last week carving 300 words off of it. A week's worth of work to delete 300 words.
It's almost February, though. And once February rolls around, it'll only be two months until April.
5 comments:
Is this Secret currently? Is she stranded? Hang in there! THe days are getting much longer.
It looks like Secret is at the edge of the mangroves, rather than driven up on them. She also looks afloat, though in shallow water, stuck by her keel. I googled her and think I found her, but am not sure. Can you say where she is? Could she not be dragged into open water by attaching a line to her masthead halyards?
I'm not sure if she's actually stranded--she definitely can be salvaged. Before I saw the photograph, I was certain this was exactly what had happened--French Wells is an excellent hurricane hole, surrounded on all sides by mangroves, and mangroves are the best place to be pushed into. They're flexible, and give to the pressure of the boat, rather than destroying the hull, as a pier or trees would. Her current owner is planning to refloat her, but his own fishing trawler is out of commission right now, as are most boats on the island.
Is the owner the Norwegian who originally bought her from you or an islander with a fishing trawler, or are they one and the same?
The Capt'n
As far as I know, the Norwegian has passed her on to an islander, but he still frequently visits from Norway and he was the one who sent the photograph. Crooked Island is a beautiful place, and difficult to stay away from.
Post a Comment