LifeGoesAdrift

Mac never had much sense of direction. The magnetic pull of virgin territory on his internal compass was irresistible to him. The seeds of many an intrepid adventure were sown in his famous words " I know a short cut we can take ". Wherever the intended destination we were bound to explore the odd cul-de-sac or unmetalled road before finally establishing a route that he had magically deduced from directing the hour hand on his watch at the sun. A cloud covered sky simply added an extra dimension of time and unpredictability to our travels. Yet, his infallible homing instinct always returned us to familiar landmarks with eye-twinkling, freewheeling ease.

Now my own compass is rusted finding home is hard. Points are missing and the magnet pulls only to the West, to where the heart lies. Adrift in the doldrums, navigating blind,

the creatures are uncannily quiet. They wait in anxious anticipation for the rustle of wind in the sails, for the echo of a sea shanty from fog shrouded vessels coasting nearby, for that elusive rainbow, for the glide of dove's wings and the call " Land ahoy ! "

But the taste of salt tears still stings on the lips and dries the voice to a whisper. Is that the glimmer from a lighthouse, though ? Blink, just. yes, through the mist, just a blink. Maybe , just, blink bluebells, blink violas, blink lillies, blink-blue irises............ Blink -blink clematis.....Blink-blink.

And blossom petals drift, in pink confetti flurries tracing upward spirals in the warm, still air.