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!