A young woman picked up her long powder blue skirts, pale pink flowers swishing in the cool breeze of dusk. Down her new hilly street and right in the heart of town. A town once utterly foreign, now slightly familiar within the few blocks radius of her new home. A gentle loneliness snuggled close to her heart as she slipped on the ear buds. She had made it a point not to wear earphones until today -stay open to the novelty, the opportunity for happy coincidence, surprise meetings and the forging of friendships. No more formality now, no more niceties. Enough trying to make this place home. Home was lost somewhere inside of her... it was not outside.
She took a long breath, walking past a group of protestors down to the waterfront. Even here, there were protestors, she thought, sighing to herself, choosing to walk the outer perimeter of the park to avoid the ruckus. Motorcyclists revved up at the zebra crossing, after slowing to watch the mini-parade.
But she walked onward onto an abandoned road that ran parallel to a wired fence, broken glass and garbage strewn amidst dirt and gravel. At least no one was here. The green ocean ran thick and milky, silver shimmers and mirrors appearing between waves as the sun set behind. Dark forested cliffs ran towards each other on the other shore, never meeting as the water opened out into the forever of the horizon.
The clamour died down and the woman made her way back up and around into the park, wrapping her shawl closer around her bare shoulders. It was the first time she walked this city avoiding people's gaze, looking up, down and beyond, but choosing not to acknowledge those souls that ventured neighbourly friendliness. She passed the stone dogs that stood guard -this province's namesake, the Newfoundlander and the Lab. Quickly scanning the park bench for signs of spilled booze or human expectorations from the long-weekend's festivities (and finding neither), she took a seat, near the edge of the dock.
Small boats rocked up and down, swaying slightly from side to side, well-anchored. Second Chance and some lame name from Toronto. She liked Second Chance, blue and simple with that picture-bookish scrawl of the painted white name on its side. She stared into the wind, into the green water, the colourful houses in the distance on one of those reaching cliffs -mere lego structures from here -the large boats, the small boats, the smell of a salty sea. And the tears had already arrived. What was she doing here? Did she even belong in this far-away place? The a cappella in her ears soothed like a lullaby, as she watched a couple birds fly off together, grazing the coastline and then up into the fluffed eggshells on the last bit of blue sky.
An old man with his dog, stopped by before leaving -"Wouldn't want to go out on them boats, no. I'm gettin' sea-sick just lookin' at 'em." She laughed good-naturedly in agreement, but only to be agreeable. Truthfully, she wanted nothing more in that moment to go out in one of those boats right now, out into that infinite ocean and far away from all the unknowns of this new life, all the expectations, mainly of her own self. And far away from the loneliness in her heart and soul. At least sadness is more poetic she thought, as she stood to leave. Turning around, a peach stingray shone against the sky before morphing into a little dragon and then dappled cotton. The cars stopped to let her cross. A hundred wreaths of flowers and conifers were strewn about the grand statue and she didn't know why or what they commemorated. The restaurant she had been recommended a week ago that had been closed because of a "small fire" had reopened and teemed with hungry locals, couples and tourists amidst candlelight and dark tables and chairs. She walked past the Long Dick's Sausages truck, past the family-run chocolaterie and the Heritage Shop, then up past the brown, turquoise and yellow clapboard townhouses until she reached the navy blue of her own. My ship, my home.
As she unlocked the door and put on some tea, she found that the sadness had lifted, washed away in that sea.
She took a long breath, walking past a group of protestors down to the waterfront. Even here, there were protestors, she thought, sighing to herself, choosing to walk the outer perimeter of the park to avoid the ruckus. Motorcyclists revved up at the zebra crossing, after slowing to watch the mini-parade.
But she walked onward onto an abandoned road that ran parallel to a wired fence, broken glass and garbage strewn amidst dirt and gravel. At least no one was here. The green ocean ran thick and milky, silver shimmers and mirrors appearing between waves as the sun set behind. Dark forested cliffs ran towards each other on the other shore, never meeting as the water opened out into the forever of the horizon.
The clamour died down and the woman made her way back up and around into the park, wrapping her shawl closer around her bare shoulders. It was the first time she walked this city avoiding people's gaze, looking up, down and beyond, but choosing not to acknowledge those souls that ventured neighbourly friendliness. She passed the stone dogs that stood guard -this province's namesake, the Newfoundlander and the Lab. Quickly scanning the park bench for signs of spilled booze or human expectorations from the long-weekend's festivities (and finding neither), she took a seat, near the edge of the dock.
Small boats rocked up and down, swaying slightly from side to side, well-anchored. Second Chance and some lame name from Toronto. She liked Second Chance, blue and simple with that picture-bookish scrawl of the painted white name on its side. She stared into the wind, into the green water, the colourful houses in the distance on one of those reaching cliffs -mere lego structures from here -the large boats, the small boats, the smell of a salty sea. And the tears had already arrived. What was she doing here? Did she even belong in this far-away place? The a cappella in her ears soothed like a lullaby, as she watched a couple birds fly off together, grazing the coastline and then up into the fluffed eggshells on the last bit of blue sky.
An old man with his dog, stopped by before leaving -"Wouldn't want to go out on them boats, no. I'm gettin' sea-sick just lookin' at 'em." She laughed good-naturedly in agreement, but only to be agreeable. Truthfully, she wanted nothing more in that moment to go out in one of those boats right now, out into that infinite ocean and far away from all the unknowns of this new life, all the expectations, mainly of her own self. And far away from the loneliness in her heart and soul. At least sadness is more poetic she thought, as she stood to leave. Turning around, a peach stingray shone against the sky before morphing into a little dragon and then dappled cotton. The cars stopped to let her cross. A hundred wreaths of flowers and conifers were strewn about the grand statue and she didn't know why or what they commemorated. The restaurant she had been recommended a week ago that had been closed because of a "small fire" had reopened and teemed with hungry locals, couples and tourists amidst candlelight and dark tables and chairs. She walked past the Long Dick's Sausages truck, past the family-run chocolaterie and the Heritage Shop, then up past the brown, turquoise and yellow clapboard townhouses until she reached the navy blue of her own. My ship, my home.
As she unlocked the door and put on some tea, she found that the sadness had lifted, washed away in that sea.
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