Photos from this morning's 3hr walk
And if you shipwreck of course you’ll drown but if you washed up. If you happened to wash up on the little island — the sandy part not the rocky edge — he would pull you from the beach, you would feel as if in a dream his strong rugged hands under your arms pulling you out of the surf. He’d carry you through the tall, narrow doorway and let you rest in the dark kitchen helping you into a seat and fumbling in the wooden chests and cabinets for a towel to wrap across your sea soaked shoulders he’d mumble an apology about the hard wood chairs as he puts on the kettle. With your arm over his shoulder he’ll half carry you up the narrow staircase that winds all the way to the top of the lighthouse all the way to the bright eye of the angel of the sea. The light.
The wood would creek and the air would be damp and warm inside, enveloping you like a rough wool blanket, heavy with the sea, salty in your throat. He’d ease you into the bed the only bed in the tower. His bed. He’d string a hammock in the kitchen and sleep there against your protests. “You’re looking well stranger” he’ll say like he’s been thinking about you every day since you last saw him, waiting for you to stumble up the path or wash up on this little beach. And you’ll laugh deep in your chest.
And when you stumble down into the kitchen weak but revived, alive, dressed in the thick wool sweater he left on the foot of the bed for you, he'll look up and say “hello sailor” and he'll offer you a cup of tea. And the next day he'll show you his garden, and his dog will take a shine to you and put its head on your lap when you sit at the table, and the next day he shows you the little library he keeps, the pages almost damp in the sea air but still in excellent condition, all your favorites are there the books you read together at school in childhood. And the next day you tell him about the voyage that shipwrecked you and the other voyages before and he knits while you talk, a blanket he says for the dog he says for winter he says. And the next day you can make the trip you’re strong enough to climb all those stairs and he shows you the light. And you look out at the horizon. You can imagine the sailors straining their eyes against the dark, and then crying tears of salt joy when they see the light. They would be relieved and overjoyed, but not the way you would have felt if you had seen that light, not, you suppose, in love.
calmness only the ocean brings
no but why tf am i not a mermaid
Max Klinger’s Die Sirene, Triton und Nereide // The Siren, Triton and Nereid // 1895
Watch "4k Underwater Video Ultra HD - Sea Life Aquarium | Calming Music For Sleep Underwater" on YouTube
I don’t know what I was trying to achieve with this drawing and I regret my life choices
Where I reside
Statsraad Lehmkuhl is sailing the Norwegian coast (+ a short trip to Shetland) this summer, and everyday for hours the people can follow along the nrk stream on tv/laptop etc. Here they are somewhere in the North Sea on their way to Shetland, and they ended today’s broadcast with a shanty.
Cessagender moodboard for anon!
☁️ ☁️ ☁️ / ☁️ ☁️ / ☁️ ☁️ ☁️
Cessagender (adj.) - an aesthetigender relating to calm and soft yet muted feelings, and is often slightly melancholic. It feels as if it is ocean waves lapping at a sandy shore, a gentle yet somewhat "sad" feeling
Symmetry in sailing
7-28-21 — barren
7-28-21 — cascade head, neskowin