There were rainbows in the spray behind the boat, and crystals shimmered in the folds of the waves….

She had wanted to come, insisted really. He had let her – a silent nod, a look of resigned understanding. So now she stood beside him, as he navigated the route, cutting the motor when they reached the spot. The exact spot. Or so they said.

When the anchor was dropped, the four men stood. Black clad aliens, elongated feet, masked faces. They dropped, backwards. A ripple, a cloud of bubbles, then gone. Down to the other world. Below the velvet canopy so keen to cover them, to hide them from view. Unseen, they searched, while she stood on the little deck, waited, did not talk.

She watched the gulls, intent on their own search. Saw fish, glisten silver as they flashed away. Watched planes overhead drawing white zippers across blue sky. Saw yachts, lined like white sandwich triangles along the horizon. Listened to the water lapping against the boat.

Eventually, they returned, rising like black seals that morphed into men as they climbed aboard. Shaken heads, quiet voices, no more time. The boat turned back to shore, laying the white lace carpet behind them, showing where they had been. Where they were leaving. They would return again tomorrow, and for as many tomorrows as it took. Until they found him. But it would not be today.

She stood, held against the horizon, a figurehead of stone. Tears, soft and salty, mingled with the spray on her cheeks. And she noticed, saw the despair and the beauty, in it all. Beauty in a sad world – or was it, she wondered, sadness in a beautiful one? They were entangled, mingled, fused by weariness.

But there were rainbows in the spray behind the boat. And crystals shimmered, in the folds of the waves…..

xxx

anneethompson.com