Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has offered up
another challenge for us – to write a
Six Sentence Story using the word ‘craft’;
this is my story in six sentences.
It’s quite a view and a little odd that I daydream about living there; I have no idea where “there” is as I only saw a poster one day as I rode by on a crowded bus on my way to work but ever since then I’ve been obsessed with getting out of this hectic, dreary city and moving to that lovely building by the brilliant harbor as I imagine the sun glistening off the ocean every morning and the stars performing a water ballet of harbor lights at night.
I can hear the street vendors calling out to tourists passing by to taste this or buy that …. children playing tag, their carefree laughter so delightful …. old women selling glimmering conch and abalone shells by the dock and people stopping by their little tables for small sandy pouches tied with string the color of lapis lazuli nights …. the baristas at the outdoor cafes brewing fresh coffee from their burlap bags of roasted arabica beans and the baker across the way bringing out sweet fruit tarts and golden pistachio and walnut pies dripping with honey.
There’s a small hazy smoke shop nestled between two larger buildings and men stop by for hand-rolled unfiltered cigarettes and skinny cigars; young, beautiful women and men eye each other across the tables in the antique bookstore, perhaps searching for romance as well as an aged yellowed copy of sonnets and poems.
The orange fishing boat has just returned and her haul was a good one; the little craft is heavy with various fish and the crew expertly fillet the catch while mothers with babies strapped to their backs patiently wait for the fish to be wrapped in brown paper and handed to them for tonight’s dinner.
Somewhere in the distance a church bell chimes and dogs bark at the passing ships; the intoxicating salty aroma of the sea rises up to my room and I fling open the windows to welcome another glorious new day, taking a deep breath as the warmth of the sun caresses my face.
The raspy, tired voice of the overworked bus driver yells out “Fulton Street” and snaps me back to reality, my exquisite daydream temporarily shattered as I exit the bus and head for work reminding myself that someday I will find my way to that cream colored building with the terra cotta roof on the glistening harbor; it’s quite a view, isn’t it?
NAR©2024
This is Boz Scaggs with “Harbor Lights”
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