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Postby fionamalkin » Fri Dec 07, 2012 6:19 pm

Somewhere in the world of latitudes and longitudes fifty five degrees north and five degrees west, north but not so far north as Lapland and on the western fringes where the light defilement is minimal we find ourselves on the deck of our boat, it is night, it is dark, and there is a sharpening in the breeze.

In a lonely marina far enough away from all other boats to feel happily desolate we are sitting on deck wrapped in the woolly quietude of the night. All time is thrown open above us in random light, the past the present and the future an unfolding event on the astral plains. We are the smallest speck on the particular meridian that holds us in time and space, we sit afloat bathed in the supernal illume, gazing through celestial parallels of latitude towards the most distant reaches of the universe, on and on through the constellations and milky ways to the furthest spans of life.

Bound to the world by magnetic force, our time is adrift, all our horizons fall in stars and splendour and climb in vortical wonder. We are watching a meteor shower and calling to each other each time we see a light trailing in the heavens, each one a trickle of luck we do not yet know how much we will need. We are afloat our bows streaming in starlight and the running waters of the night, suspended in our extraordinary globe the great firmament above and the ocean below, catching stars and rocking them gently in its salty caress, spinning softly towards the dawn.

One time, one place, one memory locked in words.

Wishing on stars for boats, ropes and clear skies.
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