Monday, December 3, 2007


I had been thinking that things would be alright, when I ventured forth into the deep.
It rained in sheets, and the sea, dark green, was warm and silky, yet rose and tossed about.

I headed for the northern headland, below, kelp rose from dark places dimly lit.
All Bronze Whalers lay timid and quiet, hidden in even darker clefts, fearing the noise and commotion above.
In the shelter of the cliffs, the water shifted about, more restless than malign.

I thought I passed my love, sitting on a peak of water, feet trailing: I ran a finger along the sole of his foot, he smiled.
Fish bright, I spun into the open sea.

I had been mistaken, the sea was spiteful, and pulled me this way, cackling and shrieking with that familiar pitch: a warning not to take anything for granted. I knew then I was foolish.

Firmly, the water pulled, and when I made to look up to the horizon, dark waves blocked my view.
Oh, the water was soft and warm, but cruel, tried to pull me down, bend my bones, thrust me sideways. Always the sandy bed shifting one way, and then another, shadows in the dim.
Entangled and trapped, nevertheless,
like all good fish, I continued, and all the way, was pulled and tossed. It is dark, in the open sea, the surface spined with silver where the rain drives in, the fresh rain lying on the surface like a blanket.

At the edge I find
the longest piece of seaweed in all the world, torn from the rock garden by the whim of the water. I drag it up, and make a wreath on the sand. An offering.

I know you're there, I call, silently. You are with me always. I will never give up

I walk up the wet sand, and away.
The ocean fills my every space.


jellyhead said...

fifi, this piece had my heart racing with fear. The phrase 'dancing with the devil' came to mind. I'm just glad you are such a strong swimmer.

As always, you write so beautifully, and your last line is simply perfection.

meggie said...

Fearful as I read.
Keep safe.

Suse said...

I was a bit nervous for you too.

ps. re the vacuuming walls - I live in a mudbrick house so it's necessary. Sad I know.

Leann said...

awesome my dear simply awesome.

Arcturus said...

I second Leann's comments. If it's OK with you, I may use that image accompanying this entry. It is very pretty. Did you take that picture?

Also, I'm not sure if you got my email to you, but I changed my URL to my blog. The word "notes" was changed to "arcana" -- you should be able to follow it via my name link for this comment.

meli said...

beautiful and frightening and beautiful.

be careful!

we will be in sydney but only for one night (and not even a day), so i don't think there will be time to see you. :( (the lovie was adamant he wasn't interested in seeing sydney - partly because the more time for paragliding the better, and partly i don't think he wants to be a typical german tourist!) as he's the non-australian, i let him prioritise. thanks for the offer though, and maybe next time one of us traipses across the globe we'll be able to meet up!

Isabelle said...

Oooh - scary. I particularly love "the surface spined with silver".

The end of the academic year? I do find it hard to get my head round the fact that it's summmer with you. It's certainly not here!

Have a nice rest?

itisthelittlethings said...

will you look into getting published soon?
I envision a lovely coffee-table book full of combinations of your lovely sea-art, peppered with sea-speak.