Bev Allen's Blog - Posts Tagged "home"
Going Home
I've been a bit busy, so just a very short story this time.
Going Home
The wind ripped the handkerchief she had been waving from her fingers and carried off high above the liner’s bows.
Despite the cold she could not bring herself to go below, she stood by the rail and watched the shore slipped further and further away as the evening tide carrying them out. She knew when she came on deck tomorrow green waters would have turned to blue and the land would be a memory.
She had always promised herself she would go home, go back to her mother and all her brothers and sisters. Every part of her had ached for the familiar faces and familiar places of home.
Eventually she could bear the aching need no longer and she had packed her case and fled back to the land of her birth.
Once there, softly and quietly the familiar had wrapped itself about her. Remembered sights and smells and sounds had woven in and out of her senses, drawing her back to the places she had left when she had begun her great adventure.
She had come home and home had welcomed her with open arms, but now she was leaving them again, crossing back over the great ocean.
As the light finally faded and she could no longer see the dark shadow of the land, her thoughts turned to the wooden cabin by the lake.
The fruit harvest would over and soon the trees would blaze with the colours of autumn, heralding the promise of the long white winter to come.
He would be there, waiting.
When she left, she believed she was going back to where she belonged, but now the ship was carrying her back to him and to the land she knew she would forever more call home.
(My Aunt Jean went to Canada in the 1920s. She always said you have to go back before you really know where you belong).
© Bev Allen
Going Home
The wind ripped the handkerchief she had been waving from her fingers and carried off high above the liner’s bows.
Despite the cold she could not bring herself to go below, she stood by the rail and watched the shore slipped further and further away as the evening tide carrying them out. She knew when she came on deck tomorrow green waters would have turned to blue and the land would be a memory.
She had always promised herself she would go home, go back to her mother and all her brothers and sisters. Every part of her had ached for the familiar faces and familiar places of home.
Eventually she could bear the aching need no longer and she had packed her case and fled back to the land of her birth.
Once there, softly and quietly the familiar had wrapped itself about her. Remembered sights and smells and sounds had woven in and out of her senses, drawing her back to the places she had left when she had begun her great adventure.
She had come home and home had welcomed her with open arms, but now she was leaving them again, crossing back over the great ocean.
As the light finally faded and she could no longer see the dark shadow of the land, her thoughts turned to the wooden cabin by the lake.
The fruit harvest would over and soon the trees would blaze with the colours of autumn, heralding the promise of the long white winter to come.
He would be there, waiting.
When she left, she believed she was going back to where she belonged, but now the ship was carrying her back to him and to the land she knew she would forever more call home.
(My Aunt Jean went to Canada in the 1920s. She always said you have to go back before you really know where you belong).
© Bev Allen
