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flaxgoldensunken ships and siren songs
They say the sea is filled with nothing but claw-snapping creatures and danger. That it should be avoided at all costs, that it is something to fear.
I can’t be certain, but I think they’re wrong. I have glimpsed gardens of coral through rippling waves, explored stately sunken ships in half-remembered dreams with seaweed tangled in my hair.
Even when I’m awake I hear the siren songs that no one else can discern, their ears too full of air to interpret the water sounds.
They tease me when I try to explain. Joke that my long-dead mother must have been a mermaid. Sometimes I wonder if it’s true.
I sit alone on the forbidden shore, drowning my longing in salt-tinged wine and listening to the songs in the waves as they fall against the rocks, begging me to come home.
Wishing I could drink myself to the bottom of the sea where I belong.
Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.
About flax-golden tales.
They say the sea is filled with nothing but claw-snapping creatures and danger. That it should be avoided at all costs, that it is something to fear.
I can’t be certain, but I think they’re wrong. I have glimpsed gardens of coral through rippling waves, explored stately sunken ships in half-remembered dreams with seaweed tangled in my hair.
Even when I’m awake I hear the siren songs that no one else can discern, their ears too full of air to interpret the water sounds.
They tease me when I try to explain. Joke that my long-dead mother must have been a mermaid. Sometimes I wonder if it’s true.
I sit alone on the forbidden shore, drowning my longing in salt-tinged wine and listening to the songs in the waves as they fall against the rocks, begging me to come home.
Wishing I could drink myself to the bottom of the sea where I belong.
Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.
About flax-golden tales.
