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| a ship at twilight |
I happened to be at Vivocity that day.
And if you've ever been to Vivo, you'll know that this is one- if not the only- mall that is built so close to a body of water so deep that a full sized sailing vessel can dock there, right next to the mall at the edge of the boardwalk.
It's like a community outreach thingy, this mall being the one place where just about anybody can come as close as they dare to sailing vessels without having to go specifically to a port, or harbor or a sailing club or a naval base.
Three ships at this very spot I've seen thus far. I've counted the flags of the Nippon Maru. I've climbed the gangway of Doulos and visited their on-ship bookstore, and now from here, this very spot where the picture was taken, I've seen this ship belonging to the Mexican Navy.
Whom, to my chagrin, I don't know her name.
I didn't get near enough to see it. I felt I didn't have to, and I figured that if I wanted to, I'd probably just go and google it, but now that I'm writing here and reminiscing about the moment, I realize I'm much more caught up in remembering the magic of that moment rather than the necessity of finding out her name.
She was beautiful, truly beautiful. Basked in the glow of the fast setting sun, surrounded by the dusky twilight that hovers between night black and deep, sapphire blue, with all her lights twinkling so prettily in the soft evening hue, she was a mesmerizing, enthralling sight that kept me looking, looking and looking at her. At her masts, at her artfully draped sails and her neat structure.
If a ship could be described as sensual, enticing, enthralling, gorgeous, graceful, even magical, this ship would be it. None of the raucous stories we often hear about sailors and sailing belonged to her. She wasn't a ship that set out to seduce you, she was simply what she was-confident, elegant and desirous, yet incredibly delicate, happy, twinkly and giggly-sweet at the same time.
She was quiet too. She wasn't overly expressive or dynamic or loud or anything of the sort. There was a certain serenity about her, so much so that for anyone who gazed upon her- myself, that is- you felt drawn by her charismatic presence. You felt like you had to hush and join her in her calmness and live in the moment together with her. Why, it even felt like she was your present companion, both of you watching the sun go down together.
Which was precisely how I felt that very present moment. A sense of quietness. A sense of parallel universes and space and time. A sense that sailing ships of two, three centuries ago hadn't faded away and were still here. A sense that time could, at least, with her presence, pause for that brief moment and absorb you into her portal. Does it sound weird? I hope not.
It's just that I remember that singular moment very well.
And if it can be said of good-looking people mixing with good-looking people, well, she was, I heard, kept ship-shape by a pretty good-looking crew.
And if you've ever been to Vivo, you'll know that this is one- if not the only- mall that is built so close to a body of water so deep that a full sized sailing vessel can dock there, right next to the mall at the edge of the boardwalk.
It's like a community outreach thingy, this mall being the one place where just about anybody can come as close as they dare to sailing vessels without having to go specifically to a port, or harbor or a sailing club or a naval base.
Three ships at this very spot I've seen thus far. I've counted the flags of the Nippon Maru. I've climbed the gangway of Doulos and visited their on-ship bookstore, and now from here, this very spot where the picture was taken, I've seen this ship belonging to the Mexican Navy.
Whom, to my chagrin, I don't know her name.
I didn't get near enough to see it. I felt I didn't have to, and I figured that if I wanted to, I'd probably just go and google it, but now that I'm writing here and reminiscing about the moment, I realize I'm much more caught up in remembering the magic of that moment rather than the necessity of finding out her name.
She was beautiful, truly beautiful. Basked in the glow of the fast setting sun, surrounded by the dusky twilight that hovers between night black and deep, sapphire blue, with all her lights twinkling so prettily in the soft evening hue, she was a mesmerizing, enthralling sight that kept me looking, looking and looking at her. At her masts, at her artfully draped sails and her neat structure.
If a ship could be described as sensual, enticing, enthralling, gorgeous, graceful, even magical, this ship would be it. None of the raucous stories we often hear about sailors and sailing belonged to her. She wasn't a ship that set out to seduce you, she was simply what she was-confident, elegant and desirous, yet incredibly delicate, happy, twinkly and giggly-sweet at the same time.
She was quiet too. She wasn't overly expressive or dynamic or loud or anything of the sort. There was a certain serenity about her, so much so that for anyone who gazed upon her- myself, that is- you felt drawn by her charismatic presence. You felt like you had to hush and join her in her calmness and live in the moment together with her. Why, it even felt like she was your present companion, both of you watching the sun go down together.
Which was precisely how I felt that very present moment. A sense of quietness. A sense of parallel universes and space and time. A sense that sailing ships of two, three centuries ago hadn't faded away and were still here. A sense that time could, at least, with her presence, pause for that brief moment and absorb you into her portal. Does it sound weird? I hope not.
It's just that I remember that singular moment very well.
And if it can be said of good-looking people mixing with good-looking people, well, she was, I heard, kept ship-shape by a pretty good-looking crew.