The Docks
The water calls as I found my path leading to the docks. It was a gray, dank day, not a tourist in sight. With relief I set foot onto the weather worn wood and headed into the marina basin.
Amongst the year round-boats, the working boats with lobster and crab cages piled high, I saw the old timer Pete. He was a weather worn sea man who rarely spoke to land folk like me.
Although the temperature was chilled, he wore an undershirt, for he was unaffected by the temperatures that made me the weak land lover that I was. Or was I? Always seeking the murky depths of the sea, in search for something imagined, a mermaid, or a turtle a red jellyfish. Things that drew me to the sea. We said nothing to each other, I simply observed the working vessels, paying homage to these things.
Ink brush drawing from recent sketchbook © Heidi Younger
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