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| Photo-Amy McVaugh 2010 |
Well, it's been a while since I've written anything. Actually, more honestly, since I've posted something.
Truth is, I have been writing. Tons of stuff! Short stories, fiction, non-fiction, goofy stuff and poetry. Yep, poetry. As with other things I've forced myself to try, I've realized poetry can be beautiful and expressive. Still don't understand all of it, but thanks to encouragement from my wonderful Creative Writing instructor, several totally awesome classmates, and a host of friends and family I now know I love writing poetry, even if the end result isn't a masterpiece.
Publicly sharing stories I've written scares me to death. It makes me feel vulnerable. However, that's exactly one of the main reasons I'm going to start sharing them. I feel like I'm working closer towards something with every fear I wrestle with and every new skill learned. This personal information I share with you in the hopes of inspiring someone else who is holding back from trying something, living their dream, and will know it's okay to risk it. It is scary, but you'll never know if you'll fail unless you try. Or succeed. So try!
It's so worth it.
'Sail Away' is a product of my Creative Writing Class. For some strange, unexplained reason, my Uncle Bob popped in my head, and this is what I thought of. It completely consumed me as I typed, reliving this ethereal day. Two things you should know:
1) Uncle Bob is quiet and super smart. I mean the genius type, and were raised to never upset him (I've recently decided, since he's 6'3, this was merely a convenient tactic keep the kids in line.)
2) I'm terrified of deep water. TERRIFIED!
I haven't seen my Uncle in a few years now, and never realized fully how this one single day impacted my then 15 year old life. Somehow, I believe he may be responsible for the Adventurer in me. For this, I am truly thankful.
Uncle Bob, thank you for being a part of my life. I love you.
Always and forever your,
Amy-Do
Sail Away
I don’t remember when you took me on the boat, or how I
dreaded the awkward silence sure to unfold.
I don’t remember the glowing warm wood, or it’s rich,
swirled amber pattern of light and dark, beautiful and mesmerizing.
I don’t remember the
coarse furry thick rope, lying on the deck, clean and dry but wet smelling,
coiled and ready for its mission.
I don’t remember the
crisp white sail, or how it grew like a pregnant belly in the wind, full and
ready to burst, gently delivering us over the waves.
I don’t remember the bright white sparkles skipping in the
water as we silently glided over them, fearlessly abandoning all thoughts of
what lay beneath.
I don’t remember the shore drifting away, the houses, people
and dogs slowly vanishing as my human world disappeared.
I don’t remember the breeze grabbing my hair, whipping it
into knots, abandoning any thought of future repair.
I don’t remember the clean, warm silence carried on the
breeze, or the wind whispering promises, secrets, and dreams only my ears could
hear.
I don’t remember
realizing how I knew you my whole life but had never known you were only fully
alive on the water, and had sailed the seven seas.
I don’t remember you explaining the importance of reading
the winds, the water, the clouds, knowing starboard and aft.
I don’t remember your long, nimble fingers tying and untying
knots, explaining how important they were.
I don’t remember how important I felt when you asked me to help.
I don’t remember the long, comfortable silence, or of
feeling happy and content with the realization the whole world was mine to see.
I don’t remember how, for once, you stopped calling me
Amy-Do, and didn't treat me like a child.
I don’t remember not wanting the day to end.
