Musing on My Little Boat

For my Little Boats, Adelaide and Gabrielle

On a warm summer day I will launch you, my Little Boat. I thought long and consulted the Great Boat Maker for guidance before I built you. Horrible storms I had seen at sea convinced me of the need to build you correctly. Your keel was laid with utmost attention to detail, for it is your foundation. When strong winds batter you, and they will, your solid keel will keep you on course.

Only the strongest timbers could make your hull. Good wood expands and contracts with weather conditions and endures well. The character of a good hull promotes buoyancy and will keep you well above water. I molded every plank into shape with my hands, hand-fastened every joint and glued every seam. Your integrity is watertight.

The seasoned spruce I chose for your mast is well known for its strength and flexibility. It will hold the sheet firmly in place, yet yield when conditions warrant as you cut across the open sea.

The genius lies in your sails. Only the best canvas would I choose for your sails. I cut and stitched your sails myself paying particular attention with every stitch that the knot was secure. Again, so there would be no fraying when winter winds blow. I embedded pretty pictures on them which will keep you always moving forward in a positive way. It is your sails working in conjunction with your keel, hull and mast which determine how far you will travel. You are sturdy and sea worthy, shiny and beautiful, Little Boat, and I love you. May fair wind fill your sails and golden horizons lie ahead for you.

One day you will build and launch a little boat of your own. Then you will know my joy.

It is with gladness in my heart, but sadness in my eye that I release you to ocean, wind and sun.

Copyright 2012, Luke Saucier

Musing on Middleland

As first rays purpled the eastern horizon, the good ship Lollipop sailed forth. Sweet harbor lay dark and quiet, but became noisy with the coming dawn. We cut silently out into early morning sea and daylight.

Toward noon the wind picked up, and so did the sea. Afternoon provided turns aplenty. I took dangerous plunges and unnecessary risks. I drove her hard and fast. She served me better than I knew; better than I deserved. We travelled far. I never fully appreciated her green timbers while aboard and she had just become seaworthy when, late afternoon, during one of the frequent storms near Middleland, I hugged too close in and the cross-current of Middleland dashed us upon its shoals.

Looking back it's all clear, now, mistakes made while still in her thrall, but, in my heat, I was blind. Lollipop lies behind me now, broken on the shore of Middleland. No turning back, so I‘ve deconstructed her and carry pieces to burn to warm me and show the way. Her light reveals obstacles along the path. I forge on as blue yields to indigo. Forward. Always moving forward.

Old Bald Mountain with its stinging wind lies ahead to the west and beyond is the setting sun toward which we all must travel.

Copyright, Luke Saucier, 2012

Musing at The Shore of Time

I stood upon the shore of time. Moments washed over my feet. In my preoccupation with matters at hand, I didn't notice the rising tide. I was, too soon, swept away.

Atlas Unbound--A Paean to the Common Man

Poor Atlas bound in chain,
Against dark rock
Night and day you strain
Whitewashed hearth soaked with blood
of your body, torn,
to serve greedy master
to whom you are sworn.
Atlas, great Atlas
Like the lamb you are shorn.
Tear off that chain, cast down the clay
No more tomorrows forlorn,
not another day.
Mend your body; its strength to regain
Until you become
Atlas unbound once again

Musing at Sunset

The night paints the palisades over my shoulder in sunset blue as she and I sit bundled on purple evening sand. Gulls caw overhead. Playfull laughter carried upon the salty Pacific breeze from the shore tickles our ears. Silhouetted children frolic at water’s edge as golden orb slips into shimmering horizon exploding sky from burnt orange to spangled violet as darkness gathers.

Ineffable,
the moment.
The beauty.

Another day finished. Once again Lady Noche has seduced her lover, Sol, and drawn the curtain tight 'round the world.

On Scene Writing

In the order of things, as you write, you will approach a scene. You peek around the corner at it. All your characters are there, milling around; waiting. You know them. They are, after all, yours. You know roughly what happens in the scene, BUT, there are ALWAYS surprises as a scene unfolds. Your characters always do the unexpected. That's what keeps writing fun and readers interested.

Garden of Forgiveness

My friend John is a proud man. Built his electrical contracting business from the ground up, He’s a good husband and father. John has reason to be proud. He worked hard for his success, but he assumes others think likewise. John is steadfast and constant as the Northern Star, but he is also inflexible and intolerant of change. When others change, John sees this as being untrue to self, and sometimes, a betrayal of him. Through conversation I discovered John sees his inflexibility as part of his strength in spite of some estranged relationships. After all, it is closely related to the determination that built his success.

My friend Mary teaches 6th grade here in town. 6th graders are a tricky bunch, but Mary does well with them. Not perfect, but better than average. She is night and day different from John. She is forgiving and tolerant. Mary has tried to be sterner in her life, but it’s not in her. As her students change, she changes with them. She is endlessly patient. In spite of her professional successes, Mary views her inability to be stricter as a flaw in her character. She told me she used to pray for a “sterner spine.”

Both John and Mary are wrong.

It is not a flaw to allow those close to you to make mistakes, to change and grow. Inflexibility is the flaw. In most cases tolerance and forgiveness nourish the vine of affection. Inflexibility kills it. Life is so much more pleasant, and relations so much richer when we exist in the Garden of Forgiveness.

Lamb or Goat

Some days you're the lamb, some days you're the goat. Either way you end up sacrificed on the altar of eventuality. Enjoy your pasture while you still have it. Jump a fence once in a while. Live.

Musing at the Tide Pool

There were a thousand footprints in the sands
of the tide pool
from my many trips to it,
but a moment ago.
Now the tide’s turned, and the beach has been washed smooth
Ready for new, other prints.
I hear echoes of a boy's laughter
From long ago.
The lonesome gull caws in the blue overhead
Sun’s setting.
Time to head home.

Two Words

It’s just two words. Two words that roll off the tongue with a pleasing balance of consonants and vowels. We uttered them with the greatest of ease and the sincerest of intention once upon a time. A warm wish meant only to confer upon the hearer all the goodness and warmth of the season. That was before we allowed the ugly weed of politics and political correctness to invade the garden of our lives and words. Today this malady has choked off the flowers, and has perverted light into darkness. Now, as I order my coffee and sit in the coffee shop this winter season, I observe friends, looking carefully over their shoulders before they furtively speak the words. Others utter them in loud defiance demanding to be heard not just by the person to whom they speak, for they, too, are making their own political statement.

I say these words now to you in their original form intending all the warmth of the hearth and brotherly love during this yuletide season.

Merry Christmas!