father-time, mother-ship

The sun rises slowly, to a bird’s call and the goat’s bell, and the lap-lap-lap of the tide on the pebble beach. There are no roads here, and everybody sets there watch by the morning ferry, which is late again.

The sound of her metal ramp crashing down on the concrete dock reverberates around this natural amphitheatre. The Mother-ship opens her mouth, it’s a can of worms; arriving foot passengers mingle with ticket waving boarders, men with wheelbarrows come out of the shade, and little boats with smoking outboards edge closer. There are calls and shouts from people in authority. Everyone is in authority.

The little boats skit back across bejewelled water. The barrows disperse down the board-walk and up back alleys. Her mouth closes. She turns and leaves. 

Peace returns

and remains

until the same time (more or less) tomorrow.

Loutro, Crete, 2017

Author: mattpadwick

Kum Nye (Tibetan Yoga teacher),author

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