4 July 2012
The faded oak framed photograph hung in pride of place over the hearth of the ramshackle cottage. An old smack in full sail chased the massive clouds as she ran the tide. Sunlight dappled the dancing dinghies and duck and geese came in waves from the West. All frozen in time by the click of a shutter.
That had been their life, Rosie and Joseph. Childhood sweethearts drawn together by their love of the lonely Essex marshes, the sea thrift and samphire; sailing and fishing under the great open skies.
The bull terrier sat by the fire in the glow of the coals with a fixed stare, as if searching the photo for some sign of movement, some glimpse of his beloved master. Perhaps he remembered scampering the decks as a puppy, sitting above the apple cheek bow with the salt in his mouth and the wind rippling his back, remembered drinking warm sweet tea from a flaking enamel mug and barking at marauding gulls.
'Come on Bosun!' Rosie nudged the old dog and he shifted his bulk toward the door. Its no good moping over that old photo, them that's gone to meet their maker can't come back for you - nor me'.
The elderly lady struggled with her coat. Even on autumn mornings she felt the cold now. Unlike those distant halcyon days when she and Joseph laughed together, bronzed by the spray and wind, hair bleached by the sun, the immortal times, unaware the moon was always rising.
Rosie would sit on the bench by the water, lost in memories. Sometimes though, she almost envied the faithful old dog on the edge of the quay, his belief and devotion. In his world death really did have 'no dominion'. Inside she would feel cold and empty.
to be continued.......
TOM MAY
THE VIGIL • Opuss № I