The Blue Boat

The valley sits at the corner of two mountain ranges, the golden grass tinkling as it bends with the summer wind.  I can see all the way to forever and it is quiet.  Fat and juicy grasshoppers bounce off my shoes and my feet take quick steps.

Under the crooked mesquite tree I see a big blue bulk.  A boat.  A blue boat resting in the not quite shade of a spindly tree.  The plastic is sun damaged and pieces and parts litter the ground as if the boat shook itself free of ornaments before settling in it’s final resting place.  

A quick check of satellite images says the boat has been here a while; the blue sticks out against the muted grass and sparse trees, like an egg in a nest.  A man made landmark out of place in the desert.  It’s hard to miss the blue vessel and my brain is confused by it.

The closest lake is not close.  And Blue Boat is not just a fishing boat like you would launch into a little pond and row in circles, this is a ship!  A ship, left to rot in the southwest desert, nothing around to explain it’s abandonment.

At night I imagine the sand pirates sail it around, floating gently on waves of grass.  They do battle with herds of stinking cows and take coyotes as prisoners to swab the deck.  I had a dream that showed where they bury their treasure, but no one can go there.

Soon the grasshoppers will die and the leaves will fall.  Blue Boat will remain, slowly degrading back into carbon and oxygen, the holes in the hull getting bigger and bigger, and the sand pirates will have to find another ride.

 

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