Flash Fiction #30



In the gray, I hear freighters as they traverse the narrow channel en route to the Pacific.  I stand on the porch and listen as they call to each other warning of a proximity made even more treacherous by the fog.

The dividing horizon is a blur.  The mist hides all traces of the sky, the water, the earth.
 
But, these twelve-thousand ton vessels voyage on trusting in their inner navigation to lead them to distant shores. 

I too am unable to see my destination.  I can only pray that I am plotting my course in a direction that’s true.

Photo by the lovely Maggie Duncan.  And who could forget our Friday Fictioneer Femme Fatale...Madison Woods!