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Passing The Mail | by Pat McDonald
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Passing The Mail

This shows the mail being passed, by buoy, off the coast of Brasil It will have been about the 1900s.


It is inspired by an image I saw in a child's book published in the early 1900s. Don't laugh ... :-)


Whenever I do something like this I try to imagine the visitors who pass this way and who, with infinite kindness, comment on my postings.



For the ladies I imagine you on the ship in your exquisite robes, fragrant perfume - naturally wearing a hat that you may take tea with the queen.



What life do we wish? To sit at plastic keyboards looking at burning, phosphorescent screens?


Do we look for a life at sea, the heave of the ocean, the warm blush of a tropical sun?


Do we yearn for the movement of a ship's deck ... ?




I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.


I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.


I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


By John Masefield (1878-1967).

(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

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Taken on June 2, 2009