romance

The rigging sang as the evening breeze whipped through the docked boats.  The sun was plunging below the western horizon.  The harbor water shined like glass despite the wind wake.  It was not romantic, though.

The song was more howl than anything else, adding a haunting quality to the mostly abandoned dock.  Only the odd light here and there lit up the darkening docks and gave proof that life was there among the empty vessels.  Soon those would be extinguished as the owners went below deck to seek refuge from the coming chill of night.  Soon only the howl would remain with the ghosts among the boats, the creaking, the groans, the lapping of the water on the hulls, and the splashing of animals navigating the channels out of sight, hopefully out of reach, and certainly not out of mind.

No, it was not romantic.

Yet the scene still called out for attention.  It demanded it.

Don’t look away.  Don’t hide.  Don’t cover your ears.  This desolate dock could become something amazing at any moment, even as the rigging howled and the unseen horrors of the deep snuck ever closer, even as the dim lights winked out one by one to leave only darkness.

A quick look skyward hinted of the possibilities to come.  The stars, no longer competing with the hustle and bustle of normal life, flared into a dance all there own.  The boat swayed in time, enchanted.  The rigging sang.

Perhaps it was romantic, after all, in its own way.

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