One Tiny Light

It is one thirty in the morning, a few days before Christmas. I face my reflection in the window. It floats on the crushing blackness over the bay. From where I sit at my desk I can see no lights out there, except one. There is a single boat in the anchorage across the bay. It is displaying the required anchoring light which appears to be a genuine oil lamp. It flickers just enough to reveal its authenticity. The tiny thin gold ribbon of its gentle light on the still waters reaches across to my side of the bay.

Recently, most nights and days have been raging gales with pummelling rain, torn limbs and general mayhem from wind damage. Fortunately on our hillside we have known no flooding. If I bend my head a bit I can see further down the shoreline where waterfront homes blaze with festive lighting, even now in the wee hours. In the other direction there is the harsh glare of work lights from the log sorting grounds. I focus back on the the little flickering light and realize how that speaks to me of Christmas so much more than all the crass glitz and din of this massive commercial season. I refuse to get caught up in that.

I’ve already deleted one blog. It dripped of loss and jaded views. This is not a time to look for negativity and regret. There is already far too much of that. I ache for friends passed on and a daughter who is no more. This season can bring such loneliness. Being naturally bent toward depression it is far too easy for me to swerve into a spiralling tunnel. I have to look for all the wonderful things we have and don’t see. How blessed we are to live where and how we do. No one is shooting at us, we’re free to leave this country at any time, we have clean air and water. Despite cries of tough times, most of us have a surplus of rich food. Enjoy it.

Refined to its base elements life is about someone to love, something to do, and something to look forward. That is it. I wish you all plenty of those three things and perhaps the ability to help others find the same.

Happy Christmas.

Christmas: the only time of year you can sit in front of a dead tree eating candy out of socks.
~ Anon

Author: Fred Bailey

Fred is a slightly-past middle age sailor / writer / photographer with plenty of eclectic hands-on skills and experiences. Some would describe him as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over. He is certainly reluctant to grow up and readily admits to being the eternal dreamer. He has written several books including two novels, 'The Keeper' and 'Storm Ecstasy,' as well as 'The Water Rushing By', 'Sins Of The Fathers', 'The Magic Stick', as well as an extensive inventory of poetry, essays, short stories, anecdotes and photographs. His first passion is the ocean, sailboats, voyaging and all those people who are similarly drawn to the sea. He lives aboard 'Seafire' the boat he is refitting to go voyaging, exploring new horizons both inner and outer. This blog is about that voyage and the preparations for it. In spite of the odds against it, the plan is to sail away this fall and lay a course southward. If you follow this blog your interest may provide some of the energy that helps fuel the journey. Namaste Contact him at svpaxboat@gmail.com View all posts by Fred Bailey