There it is.
There on the horizon, so close yet so far, lies the ship on the still waters. Its sail a striking white against the clear blue of the sky, its hull of lustrous wood at peace on the contrasting deep blue of the ocean. A perfect vessel aligned in the differing shades of blue, a visible boundary of Sea and Sky, a marker, a monument that bridges the gap between two great forces where never the twain shall meet.
I look upon that ship and often wonder what could be aboard it. Perhaps a gallery of rogues planning to make the sea its home? Maybe a few adventurous gentlemen and their lady companions spending the day out on the still waters? Or it could be nothing more than a schooner with its crew of humble fishermen waiting in the waters for the day's catch?
Either way I do not plan on moving from my place as I watch the ship. Why should I?
I am perfectly happy sitting on my perch, high above the waters that dare to mingle with the earth below and greeting the same view everyday. Perfectly happy holding my parasol to shade me from the sun whose heat I do not feel because of it. Perfectly happy to stand for hours on end in my dress that never wrinkles or gets stained.
Perfectly happy in allowing everybody to gaze at the back of me and make comments on my beauty- despite the fact they have never seen my face.
In fact I do not believe I had ever seen my face.
All I ever see is the ship on the horizon. Day after day. Night after night.
I cannot turn around, for fear I may miss the ship.
In fact I do not believe I can turn around at all, let alone move.
But do know the days change. I do not have to move to know that.
The shadows that mark the time move around me and cover all that surrounds myself and the ship. In the morning the shadows cover my parasol; by noontide there are no shadows; by midday the shadows cover a part of the water, barely missing my ship, and by evening the shadows retreat to wherever they came from.
Then the night comes. When the shadows disappear all becomes dark and I can barely see my ship. Some nights it would be so dark I cannot see it at all and I fear the worst.
What if the day comes and the ship is no more? What shall I do then? Will my position change? What will become of me without my ship?!
But then dawn breaks and my ship is safe for another day, and I am once again perfectly happy to stare at it.
Perfect happy to stare at my ship. Perfectly happy to stay high above the waters. Perfectly happy to have my parasol protecting me from the sun. Perfectly happy to have others admire my looks even if they cannot see my fa-
"How much is that painting?" I hear a woman ask.
"That one?" another woman asks. "Hmmm... We've had that painting here for ages. It was originally priced for $30... But for you... I think $20 will suffice."
I hear the irritating and unnatural whirring of machines and some sort of flicking noise before the voices resume speaking.
"Do you want it wrapped up?" the second voice asked.
"If you please," said the first.
Suddenly everything becomes dark and I feel movement!
What is happening? Why has it gotten dark? It is only noontide! Why is everything moving? Is there a storm?
Where is my ship?!
The questions come without ceasing and my fear escalates.
Is this the day I have dreaded? Is this the day my ship disappears? Is this the day my life changes?
Without warning the movement stops and the sun reappears... Along with my beloved ship on the horizon.
I am once more perfectly happy. Perfectly stable.
Perfectly content
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