Saturday, November 23, 2013


She closes the ocean out for a while, and moves towards the bar, loving the sound of her heels on the stone floor under a low roof, and the earthy smell of turf burning from a hearth under siege from fishermen and those hungry for adventure. She finds a chink in the queue for stout, to order coffee and is offered a stool. which she accepts with grace, for it was given with a gentle smile. This was the only way to do this; 'A present to me', she reminds herself. Alone....she sighs and turns to face the fire. No placating or responding....just listening. It seemed she had travelled many miles and many years to reach this moment. Her eyes settle upon four men just right of the sea-scarred heroes. The musicians are taking a breather, she imagines, because they are chatting and taking measured mouthfuls of the black stuff.... that is except for the bouzouki player. He sits quite still and stares out towards a crowd of crab-people, who come to pay homage to the ocean and the music it inspires in an effort to feel free. 'I am one of them,' she thinks. The men take up once more, their fiddle, pipes, and guitar. The bouzouki boy had never let go. As they play she watches only him. His brows bend, black and battling, and his torturing fingers show no mercy towards silver strings. She feels a despair, but questions whether it is his or hers. An hour later, the musicians shake hands and accept crab-compliments. Their music-making has been replaced once more by that of the ocean; crashing against craggy coastline like an old-school rocker. She follows helplessly; his number one groupie. Outside again. She wonders why she feels safer out here and then decides to sits on the harbour wall and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she can now make out the deadly white frills of Oceanius' whores. 'It's relentless isn't it?' She turned and saw the bouzouki boy standing behind her looking straight ahead. 'I wish you would play out here,' she said. It was the first time she had seen him smile.

Maureen Walsh - November 2013

Ciao for now!

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