29 August 2013
I’ll keep this brief. Apparently Andrew can’t wait until I’m back on morning posts again because it means he gets to bed earlier. I mean, I could have written these posts in the afternoon. He should have told me.
I’m still preoccupied with the sea. I’m still back on the island. The smaller island. Andrew aptly pointed out that we do, indeed, always live on an island.
“Night does not fall at sea. Rather, from the depths of the waters, which an already submerged sun gradually darkens with its thick ashes, it rises towards the still pale sky. For a brief moment Venus shines alone above the black waves. In the twinkling of an eye, stars swarm in the liquid night.
The moon has risen. First it gently illuminates the surface of the waters, then mounts higher and writes upon the supple water. At last at its zenith it lights up a whole corridor of sea, a rich river of milk which, with the motion of the ship, flows inexhaustibly towards us through the dark ocean. Here is the faithful night, the cool night which I called for amid the noise of lights, drink and the tumult of desire.
We sail across spaces so vast they seem unending. Sun and moon rise and fall in turn, on the same thread of light and night. Days at sea, even and indistinguishable as happiness…”
– from The Sea Close By by Albert Camus