Sea-Borne

She stood at the bow of the little boat, her white dress and long black hair flowing around her. The sea breeze tickled her nose, bringing her the tang of salt and fish. A soft glow from behind her illuminated her figure, making her appear ghostly in the moonless night.

The soft rustle of leaves at her back caused her to glance back, a smile briefly gracing her lips. The tree, with its tiny lanterns, swayed gently in the breeze. Long branches seemed to beckon to her, and she turned away from the bow and toward the tree, which sat squarely amidships.

It was an impossible sight to behold, the tree growing from her little boat. Even more impossible was the door that opened to reveal a little home, with a stove burning cheerily in one corner. Across from the door, a face stared out at her, its lines carved with a delicate hand. Slowly, the face smiled at her, its wise old eyes glinting with life.

The young woman sat at the table beneath the face, eating the food that had been laid out, and occasionally looking up, smiling and making silent conversation with her guardian.

When she had eaten her fill, she gathered up a stack of paper and a pen, and began to write. She wrote love letters, letters of sadness, letters of joy; letters to friends, and to enemies, and to strangers; and letters that had no substance, only pure emotion. She wrote until her hand cramped, and then she cupped a mug of hot tea, sipping slowly as she regarded the papers before her.

She drank until her hand no longer hurt, and then she picked up the first letter, delicately folding it into a sailboat. The young woman repeated this process for every letter she had written, until dozens of the tiny paper boats had spilled over the table and onto the floor.

When she had finished her task, she retrieved a basket and began to gather the boats up, carefully placing them, one by one, until all were secured. The face smiled down at her, wordless acknowledgement, and the woman stepped back outside, back into her tiny boat.

As the stars shone down on her, she released the boats, one at a time, until the water around her was thick with their presence. Some sank immediately, drowned by water, imperfect in their construction, but others were borne away by the current. Maybe they would reach their destinations.

She stood at the bow of the little boat, staring out at the dark, distant horizon, and resumed her watch, patiently waiting for her relief.