note.gif "Song Sung Blue"


Over the years, how many hours spent gazing over the sea on pleasant evenings - the wind, and sea astern, a relative calm where I lean on the rail. Looking forward as is the habit of all seamen used to keeping lookout, breathing in the salt laden air, and alone as is mostly the case.

Rising from leaning, I glance to starboard, then to port, scanning the horizon, the clouds, the sea about the ship. With extended finger I feel for the salt on the bulwark cap, make a few swirls, disturbing the salt even more. A wipe of both forearms to brush of the salt from leaning in it. A turn to the right, start pacing. Pace to the starboard rail, the sound of the sea passing by getting louder. A look over the side watching the wash rushing aft. A cursory scan of the horizon aft, a twist further around, and off to pace to the other side. The same on the port side, a glance over the side, and a scan aft. An about face to the right, scanning ahead once again, pacing to starboard. Pace, pace, pace, Port to Starboard, Starboard to Port. Sky getting darker, stars, moon if any, beginning to show, sea becoming black.

I'm on "my" deck - the Captain's deck - forward, and outside my quarters. Lonesome one comes on this deck. The bridge above is quiet. Occasionally I can hear the footsteps of the watch above, especially when under the wings. The watch knows I'm down here pacing. If they need me, it's just to lean over the bridge dodger to call me. Port to Starboard, sometimes tracing my finger through the salt covering the bulkhead to my quarters. Sometimes a glance into my office through the port hole. Dimly lit so as not to interfere with the bridge watch, I see a lonesome office, the desk lamp the only light on. On some ships it's a large office, on smaller ships - small. Nevertheless it's a pathetic dungeon even though expensively furnished, and carpeted.

The sky's a dark crimson now. More stars popping out, not a ship in sight...the horizon dark, and empty. Where was it...Recife? She was tall, a red headed Irish lass. Near my age...maybe older. It didn't matter, she was one good looking woman. We'd do in the town on occasion, in the evenings, and nights bar-hoppin'. Sometimes just settling down at one outdoor cafe along the beach. Finished off a whole bottle of PassPort Scotch between us on one occasion...a great ship mate, and drinkin' buddy.

It was on dark-crimson evenings like this when she'd materialize at my side, joining me in my revery. Silent at first, absorbing the enchanting environment, waiting for the sky to turn black. Dark now, all senses at high alert except sight - both of us now just sylhouettes against the ever present zodiacal light - it never gets totally dark. This, and her fragrance at the moment the only indicator of her presence. Move a little closer - feel a little warmth. That's nice. Still silence, not word spoken. Fragrance wasping over me, a wisp of warmth disturbing the increasing chill of the night air, a chanced placing of a hand on hers. Lovely, soft, warm. A maverick breeze whips a strand of her hair across my cheek. Oh for just a nice warm embrace! Rising from leaning on the rail, both of us now tall, facing each other, my hand moving from hand to arm, the other arm serpentine-like around her lower back, I bring her closer. Both her arms now embracing me, holding me yet tighter. Still silent. Her warm, sweet breath now enveloping me, my lips searching out hers... Hey Cap! They're waiting for you...they want to start the movie!





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