SIDEWAYS IN
AN OAR LOCK
There's never as much motivation to
do something as when it's already done.
Most mountain climbers, consider, are
following others to the peak. Only then
do they look back and say, 'Mine!'
-
Here at the harbor's edge, all the old
boats are jumbled together; the cheap
side of the docking area. The newer,
more expensive ones, take center stage;
people like seeing, and being seen.
Hanging a prize catch over the side.
-
The ledger book in the in nearby inn
has lots of notes. People, while waiting
to dine, are invited to write their local
notes and observations, with a date,
and for others to read, about. There
are plenty of notes about what fish
were running, where the day's better
schools had been, and, even, what
birds they'd seen.
-
'The Oar Lock Inn,' the place is called;
saying on the sign it was founded in
1924 for the 'Unending Pleasure of the
Educated Classes.' Like scarlet fire!
I try to think back, what that must
have meant in 1924.
-
Certainly it's almost meaningless now.
Frozen entrees, maybe, or at best, a
fresh caught day's load. Smiling ladies
dine, rugged men bespeak their money
and the boats. Skills. Aspirations.
And then the far, far fire of the sun
going down over the harbor. No
one writes of that.
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