Due North

The sky had a hue code of two one two oxford blue. The moon, glowing in all her glorious dewy light, was still present in the crisp summer night sky. Two heavy steel boots land on his deck with a thud. They walk along the old rickety deck; long slender shadows sprout from his step sucked away into the deep dark night sky. The man has tousled, curly brown hair, glued together in dry stiff strands built up with salt.

His skin drawn and lined like aged, sun kissed leather. Years and years at sea have shrivelled his once supple skin, now it’s burnt and brown, raw from the constant attack of coarse salty wind and violent rays of sunlight.

One hand on the tiller steering the pathway, the other holding tight the jib sheet. His mainsail is still in place and the boat on course due north. Retreating in the distance, far behind the boat, the sailor’s land vanishes in the night. He felt a sense of tranquillity settle over him. He, with a new resolve, anticipated that all doubt was going to be left far behind him on this journey. The gentle sway of the boat moving forward in the mild breeze, the sea calm. The hypnotising sound of water doubt was going to be left far behind him on this journey. The gentle sway of the boat moving forward in the mild breeze, the sea calm. The hypnotising sound of water sloshing against the edge of the boat lulled him into a vulnerable slumber. Warmth, spreading through him as he dreamt, reminiscing in his memories, a dreamlike state that the conscious mind can never reach.

His expression changed as he slept on, from placid, relaxed cheeks to brows furrowed in worry, jaws clenched. Still deep in his sleep the world around him grew malicious. The wind began to howl, the stronger it became his expression grew increasingly sombre. His calloused hand began sliding from the jib sheet, slackening the mainsail. The cold hard rope holding steady the front mainsail, was slipping. Loosening the sail, it began to flutter. The wind a thrashing entity; the sail began to flutter causing a loud droning noise. The sound of laundry flicking about in an approaching wind, the kind felt just before a storm hits. Coarse material snapping in the gale, exploding in his ears. Droplets of water splatter his face like beads of ice, hard and cold.

His panic mingled with his wretchedness caused him to lose the conscious mobility of his limbs, a jerking movement caused the boat to veer off course, a sharp right.

Misery clung to him; its vice stronger than a leech’s. The jib sheet was jerked from his hand, waking him with a start. He lurched forward reaching for the flyaway rope. A crack as loud as a whip came from his hand connecting with the jib sheet. He attempted to secure the sail in his numb hands. Droplets of water well in his eyes and fall from the sky as thunderous dark storms clouds and huge temperamental waves rumble in. Brilliant chaotic winds up from the south propels the tired boat forward. The bow crashing into the wall of water that has just appeared in front of him. The impact causes a torrential downpour of water to smash into the boat, swamping the deck. Surging waves added to the downpour of rain numbed his limbs. His stomach twists into nauseating knots curling with dread. The surging waves of sadness built up inside him.

In his attack of anguish, he roared into the horrendous storm. A guttural roar, catching in the back of his throat, choking hysterics are lost to even his own ears. A response followed the man’s outburst, three claps of thunder and four strikes of lightning. Eyes downcast his efforts of fighting against the impenetrable forces of Mother Nature were fruitless. The oppressing weight of sadness that was wearing him down dispersed with a wave of water and sense of clarity, as dawn approached. His hands raised in defeated fists shaking at the rolling clouds, eyes scrunched tightly, his head bent downwards. The remaining water drips from his hair, down his eyebrows, from his nose, onto his lips and dribbles off his chin. He scoffs his head bouncing up and back down, depleted of energy.

The man knew that he had to respect what had just happened, drained and exhausted, he knew his wicked thoughts only brought him further down. As he pondered on becoming more optimistic, he implored the sea;

“Take me to where you meet the sky,

Where the white wall rises,

And the sky is illuminated in a tranquil ambiance.

Take me on this journey

Show me beauty on calm days and

On stormy ones too.

Teach me that

Happiness can be found beautiful

Not only through peace but

Through melancholy too.”

The seas, responds in a most modest way;

“Sweet sailor I will get you to the wall, to see the magical lights, for I pity your misfortune.

“Easy sailor I will show you beauty for I understand the turmoil you experience.

“Ahoy naïve sailor, I have no mercy, nor care if you find happiness here. However, I take no

praise nor criticism anyway as I am an unknown oasis and undeserving of your gratitude.”

In the bright, clear day the white wall now visible in the distance, the sails fall. The solitary boat is becalmed. Nothing moves in the eerily quiet space. He scans the horizon, head tilting, panic squeezing his throat. He calculated his environment wrong, without so much as a slight breeze, there was nothing for the man to do. He stood. As midday approached the sun scorched, the heat flustering the man into a clammy panic. The man relied on his knowledge of the seas. In this moment, it failed him. The wind is crucial to his journey. Now he merely bobs up and down, the ebb of water knocking the boat side to side. He was a buoy, in the middle of the vast nothingness. Utterly mortal. The constant bob up and down, up and down, up and down began to annoy the man, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw gritting down and his teeth grinding.

He watched the white wall, an ache clutches his heart, as it ran along the horizon, right round, past his peripheral vision he had to swivel to see more of it.

Not moving near or away from it.

The white wall visible in the distance, it runs, stretching right around the rim of the world.

The man begins losing patience with the tedious journey. As his frustration grows the fiery sun, its burning passion for destruction grows with his temper. The harsh heat searing his already raw skin.

At one double hour the brightness was blinding (darkness was absent)

At two double hour the brightness was brilliant (darkness was absent)

At three double hours the brightness was blazing (darkness was absent)

At four double hours the brightness was burning (darkness was absent)

At five double hours the brightness was boiling (darkness was absent)

Upon reaching the sixth hour the man, his anger burnt out, was blistering with boils, his skin excoriated/raw. His head was throbbing, the heat truly piercing his anger. The burning rage he felt seconds ago spluttered and went out, like a weak flame.

Upon reaching the sixth hour dusk fell. His racing heart slowed down as he felt his burning skin cooling as the serene night sky drew near. As the sun began his descent, the moon rose bringing with her the glorious wind. A gentle breeze that brought the boat and sea back to life. Moving forward in the cool night the man began to feel calm again.

Upon reaching the seventh hour the white wall loomed in front of him, great and exhilarating. A gap in the wall lead to a flat expanse of smooth white carpet.

He could see them now, the pearl white glaciers. Even in the spellbinding ebon(y) night sky they stood out reflecting a bright white luminescence. The moon just above them, smiling, waiting. She is a soft white ambient glow in the infinite ink pot that is the sky. He gazes up at her, enthralled, filled with an overwhelming sense of tranquillity and gratitude for the moon. Looking up into the inexplicable sphere of ivory cosmic dust. He inhales deeply, calmly and explores the night sky. Wonder tugs a grin from the rugged sailor as his eyes mirror the miracle that unfolds in front of him. Lights glisten and swirl across the night sky. Speckled now with pinpricks of astral flares, extinguishing in the cosmos, light years away. Thousands of stars glittering amongst the flow of lights, amongst green ripples and pink swirls. Blue shimmies in and around the pink and yellows float in between the greens. Captivated by the magic of nature the man recalls his journey and ponders his troubles at sea and decides the difficulties he experienced had now become only that of history. Pride is etched in every crevice of his mature skin. His eyes crinkled at the corners; beaming his teeth exposed to the air. Arms stretched out wide the sailor throws his head back; laughter erupts into the soft night. He spins slowly, feeling the cool air on his skin, gooseflesh rising. His laughter triumphant, heart pounding in his chest, the sailor made it.