Fishing boats sway to the rhythm of the ocean’s waves as they lap the boulders along the shoreline.  A silver bird circles a blood red sun and sails across the swelling breakers of the tempestuous ocean. A fisherman tugs at his knitted watch cap inspecting his worn nylon nets by the mornings new born light.  Woodsmoke hovers along the shoreline before drifting up to the cabins scattered amongst the rolling hillside.  Dolphins and whales self propel from the water as the local fishing vessel’s head out to an uncompromising sea.  Lobster traps on lengths of knotted nautical rope are anchored in the cold, dark, mysterious waters.

Trawlers sweep the ocean’s floor taking all that they can, but always expecting so much more. Seabirds screech like the weight of the world rests upon their outstretched weathered wings. They stumble into chaotic flight patterns and noisily vanish onto another horizon.  Deckhands and watchmen sing mythical and drunken sea shanties as they while away the interminable hours.  The helmsman eyes his compass and navigates the ravaged vessel across the undulating water. Ghost nets hover above the ocean’s floor senselessly entrapping their oblivious bounty.

As the daylight surrenders to the call of the evening, fishing boats slowly return to the shores. A strip of fiery light streaked across the diminishing skyline is extinguished with the blink of an eye. The lighthouse keeper swings his glimmering lantern as he navigates the rocky path along the jetty. A woman on the coast steals nervous glances at the shoreline as she rests a glowing candle on her window sill. She places a pot of coffee on the wood stove then double checks the frequency on her amateur radio ... and I am out here watching the shifting constellations hoping that maybe the sky will explode, my telescope trained sharply on Sagittarius I am waiting for the darkness to encompass me.