A Good Life

February 9, 1883

Dearest Mother,
     Although you warned me against wedding James Anderson, suggesting the hardships of a light keeper’s wife not worthy of our family, I find I quite enjoy living 250-feet above the high water mark of ocean waves.
    Yes, howling winds and the clang of the fog bell (imagine 1600 pounds of metal striking nine consecutive times every minute after fog rolls in) drive me mad, but, the songs of sea birds and the trill of thrushes counter-balance all discomfort.
     Between the times I cook, do the washing, take care of our darling Marie, all of 4 months now, I find solace in cleaning the Fresnel lenses knowing, wishing, hoping that if those 1,000 glass prisms are clean enough to direct lamplight to the central reflector, many sailors will survive the tumultuous waters churned up by the meeting of the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean.
     I believe I  chose well.
     Henrietta

 

The Circle

Wednesday-Friday has once again provided an interesting photo prompt posted by our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. Here are my 100-words.

These are the bones of our people, stacked one upon another to form the perfect protective structure. Time means nothing to us. We come. We go. Live and die, yet we are always here, guarding our children and their children and on and on and on. No one tires of the process. While alive, we smile up at our ancestors. Celebrate their strengths and weaknesses. Thank them for watching over us. We know that following death we will shelter the cheerful and the lost, participate in weddings and funerals through our spirits. A never-ending circle that brings comfort and peace.

 

Give Me Life on the Sea

After eleven exciting days in Peru, I’m glad to be back in the company of the Friday Fictioneers. Today’s photo, posted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, was provided by Fatima Fakier Deria. Thanks to you both.

I make my living chasing
salmon and halibut and dogfish
across miles of salt-scented waves
under the heat of the midday sun
or swallowed by a cacophony of rain.

I am alone ninety days out of the year and
have learned to enjoy the solitude.
I whistle along with sea birds,
play guitar and mend nets.

I need no partner
woman or man
to make the world go round.
I am content
until my feet anchor on land.

There I endure endless pawing,
cat-calls and intimidation
from fishermen threatened by
the existence of
independent women.

(100-words)

 

 

The Dream

Walk through the gate. Follow the light.
I will be yours forever.
For you, my men will erect a castle
using crystal, marble and steel.
For you, the women shall sew garments
of silk decorated with golden threads,
glistening diamonds.
Come.
Walk through the gate.
Be mine.

“Tonya!” The young woman jolts awake. “Bring me them nails!”
She stands.The flour sack dress she’s been hand-stitching for a week falls to the dirt.
Squinting into the sun, she sees her man hammering together boards, building a one-room shack in a field of weeds.
She rubs her pregnant belly.
Smiles.
Life couldn’t be better.

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