Mermaids

“Where did they go, daddy?” She gripped his finger, her round, green eyes staring out to sea.

He scratched the pepper beard that masked his smile. “I don’t think they want us to know.”

Her brows scrunched together, and she pouted her lips like a fish. “But they always go away!”

With calloused fingers, he grabbed her hand. Years of hook scars and rope burns left them coarse, so different next to her soft, pink skin. “They don’t follow us home, why should we follow them?”

She turned, ponytails bobbing in the ocean breeze, and skipped past the nets and traps to the boat’s edge. “I hope they have a nice home.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Where they can sing and play!” She twirled across the deck. “I want to be a mermaid.”

Arms folded over his wide chest, he laughed, the sound like a crashing wave. “And live in Atlantis?”

“Yes! You and mommy can be mermaids too. And then we can be friends with the whales.” She spun a rope around her tiny body like a parade ribbon.  “Then they will show me their home!”

His face scrunched with his hidden smile, wrinkles stretching from his eyes like a tattered sail. “Aye, then maybe they will.” He plodded to the wheelhouse, stride swaying like a buoy. “It is time to go home, my little mermaid. The whales need to sleep.”

The stench of gasoline mixed with the salty air as the engine sputtered and yawned. He inhaled the familiar scent and watched the black shapes in the green water. A spout shot from the surface as the final humpback dove into the depths.

“Are you going to see the whales tomorrow? Tell them I say hello!”

He pushed the throttle and listened to his rattling fishing supplies fastened at the bow.

“I will tell them.”

Head Forward, Fingers Down!

I’ve written this sentence ten times. That basically sums up my entire feelings about starting a blog. Where do you start, how do you keep going, and what the hell is the point? Well, here I am. I guess I’ll just keep at it.

I’ve been writing for years now. I’ve got a neat little folder smack in the center of my desktop labeled: “Writing.” And oh man is it full of “Writing.” Dozens of half-baked documents compete for real estate in the nested folder system I’ve halfheartedly imposed to keep things somewhat clean. The only true folder, the one above all, is the fabled “Finished work” folder, and even then, documents come flying out of that every time /i spend more than a minute re-reading what I’ve considered “finished.” I guess what I’m trying to say is, why not share? I have plenty of things to show the world. Good things? Well, that’s to be decided. But I’ve been sitting on top of my folder, miserly stashing any piece of work into the back corners of my hard drive. I will occasionally pull out a malnourished document fiddle with it like some deranged scientist only to stuff it back inside and turn away.

Well, not anymore.

I say it’s finally time to take my little creations into the sun and show them off to the world. One step up and one step out, It’s time to do something. And let me be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing.