Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
The proper, as defined as the creators, Jenne and CE, name of this bloghop is ‘the Unicorn Challenge?
Appy-polly loggies for my abscence last week. Like a weight lifter trying to come out of retirement, I totally underestimated my capacity to deal with a special event at another bloghop, while still creating something for ‘the ‘corn’. I trust Jenne and ceayr will suffer my insufficiency and permit me to again participate in their marvelous 250-word-limit photo prompt event.
Prompt photo:
The post Photacious Phyriday -the Wakefield Doctrine- first appeared on the Wakefield Doctrine.I stop at the end of the dock and try to remember my path in reverse.
Closing my eyes doesn’t help. The pre-dawn silence screams of disassociated context. A footstep on broken shells, like china cups grinding in a wool blanket; the thud of a car door, rock-skipped over the water, its origin the far side of the anchorage.
I don’t belong. As soon as the first suburban mariner arrives, weighed down with sunscreen, bottled spring water and a family he never dreamed of, I will be trapped here.
Forever out of place, quarantined in time.
Had I only not, in a moment of denial, like Adam insisting the dietary Warning was just a hungry man’s dream, stepped off the boat and onto the dock. Angry and resentful after tying up in port after too-long-a-trip with too-small a catch, I put my foot on the rail and the body followed.
My anger shouted to the midnight port: no more nights in a foc’sle reeking of exhausted men and worn-out dreams, no more working the deck that, like a runaway spouse, offered only unpredictable days and boring nights. What could be worse?
Where I was now, a place clean and reeking of privilege, as alien in form as it is in time.
My vessel, my home, the wooden Eastern rig FV Christine Denise, iss nowhere to be seen in a harbor where she would have been as out of place as child’s wish in the treasury of the Vatican.
