Old Woman By The Sea

The northern ocean's harsh swell accompanies her coffee.

The smell of salt and sea life is as ripe as the air is fresh.

It is an odour that clings to her clothes, skin and hair these days

as well as her heart and soul.

She is where she wanted to be,

her old bones content

at the hard-working peacefulness of the view before her.

It is a sunny day, in a grey-blue hazy kind of way.

The end of the summer always brings such warmth and peace.

The tourists return to their city lives

and calm is restored once more

as the natives count their earnings and stash it safely away for winter hibernation.

She can almost hear the rasp of paper and chink of coin

as nests are feathered and laden

with nourishment for harsher times.

She sits on her cliff-top deck in deep thought.

She is, by nature, an intense thinker but today is different.

Today brings thoughts of all that has passed,

the big picture and a questioning of the purpose of life's events.

The passage of time evident upon her life-worn skin,

accelerated by the last 20 years of sea air... salt, fish and whiskey.

The almost comical sound of the small fishing boats horn

drags her back to the present

and she takes another sip of her luke warm coffee

as she watches the men below prepare for a days work.

A mixture of young and old,

generations of family work together as a team

in the hope of bringing home their livelihoods.

She smiles as the elder of the group

gives one of the young ones a slap across the head.

Life is made up of slaps for these people...

a thick ear for disobedience, a slap on the back for a job well done

or a gentle slap on the upper arm with a slight squeeze

to convey commiseration and support

when the vessel returns home empty of a days catch.

She thinks about the possible days produce.

Will they come home with a boat laden full of fish?

The beautiful stench of the ocean and the slime

of guts and scales on it's decks and down the front of their waders.

Muscles will ache and complain no matter what the outcome.

Sweat, tears and a tiredness like no other

will bring them home to anxious loved ones.

She has had a hundred years and sixty-three days of the daily grind.

Every day a new start. A new hope

Will I bring home something worthwhile this evening

or have I wasted yet another day in frustration and pain?

There is nothing but pain now. Physical and emotional.

Although the emotional distress seems to have developed a calm to it,

A yearning, a regretful tune, a sigh and a shrug

but nevertheless

accepted

and peaceful.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009