Miles of it...everywhere she looked, there were miles of it. It looked like sand, and yet, she knew that was a sailing ship. Sails unfurled before a brisk wind she could feel, even from her vantage point high atop the ridge that ordered the sleepy desert village. And behind it, the darkness. Every now and again, the black sky was split by a sharp incisor of light, jagged, threatening, fearful, ripping it from top to bottom, an angry reminder of man's powerlessness in the face of Mother Nature.
She folded her arms inside the cavernous sleeves of her scarlet robe. She knew this day would come. She had always known. And she knew what she must do. She turned her back on the ship and the menacing storm that blew it toward her. She must prepare, and the time was short.
The walk back to her tiny cottage took half the time she knew she had. And yet, she did not hurry. If it left without her, she would die. If she went with the other passengers, she would die. There was no need to hurry. She opened the door, and the aroma of her evening meal hit her, at the same time the first sharp pangs of a deep sorrow struck her at the heart. She gasped, and had to brace herself against the door frame for the moments it took her to bury the pains, to cover the gaping wounds in her soul.
Finally, she could move. She closed the door, and went immediately to the stove. She would eat before she left. Her last meal here. She would savor every morsel, and steep her mind in the memory. It would be her last one here. She didn't know when she would ever again be as happy as she had been here. Not that her happiness had not been deeply scarred by awful sadness, by dreadful hurt, by anger, by despair. And yet, she had been more fulfilled, more secure, more content here than anywhere before.
She spooned the simmering meat stew into a bowl, carefully removed a crusty roll form the bread box, glad she had made a fresh batch this morning. She knew the others would come for dinner, as they did every evening, and she was happy sh could leave them a last meal. She wished she could have shared t with them, but she was content to leave them with the memory of her deep love for each of them - including him, the one she would not leave, but had to.
The stew was spicy, filled with the flavors of her life - garlic, onions, hot peppers - and hearty, like she was, like her love was. She ate slowly, feeling the ship draw closer. She saw it now from her window. It glowed against the threatening dark, lighting up like a Christmas tree before the angry lightning that seemed to stalk it like a raging beast. The black sky was over the village now. She must change. Scarlet clothing would give her away as a newcomer, and since she did not know where she would end up next, she wanted to blend in as much as possible.
She washed her bowl, tidied the kitchen, and left a brief note for her friends.
"I have been called away, dear ones. I don't know if I can return. But I have left you dinner, and my love. K"
She went to dress, choosing the pale blue robe, and packing the scarlet one in with the rest of her meager belongings. She straightened her bed, opened the curtains to let in the dying light, and walked back to the door, prepared to leave this place she had called home for the last four years. Her backpack was just heavy enough to remind her of this sojourn, the longest and best of her journey.
With a suddenness that she had come to expect, over the years and the journeys, the ship was there. She stepped out, closed her door, and watched as the gangplank was lowered for her to ascend. The golden "sea" at her feet looked like molten sand crystals, glittering in the darkening evening. She walked towards the ship, feeling the tears fall, wishing she could ease this tearing ache in her heart.
Wishing she could stop sailing...
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