I have got my dining table clear again and my brain can start thinking of something else after all the concentration needed over the past four months.
7.30 a.m. and off to Mainland |
Passenger on the Water Taxi
Why
would a woman live alone on an island?
Hide
herself away from love and friends?
She’d
have to be a recluse, self-reliant, maybe
weird?
– Or have a very strong belief
in
being some sort of emerging artist?
Choose
one or all, it can’t be easy.
She
asks the same of herself – if she knew
she
would answer – though she can’t
imagine
anything other than island-life.
But I
can tell you. It’s the boat in flight
away
and back that holds her there:
her
relaxed slump, her trance-blank stare
don’t
reveal the involuntary rush of joy
flooding
her limbs as her eyes drink
up the
sea. in all its green blue-green moods
as if
once again she’s following the call
of
ancient memory like a migratory bird.
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