Yell Sound, Shetland, 2014, by R.A.D. Stainforth
I am finding it hard to watch. My ship is pulling away, not from the shore, but from its sister ship pitching and yawing as it heads out of the mouth of the bay and into the open sea.
There is no protection out there, no place to hide from either the gale force winds, or the waves as high and hard as mountains. The battering will be relentless.
I turn away, feeling a rush of betrayal. My betrayal of him as I turn my back, and his betrayal of me as he has once again refused my pleas to stop, to stay on board with me in the safety of the harbour.
It is complex, our relationship. Built on shaky foundations – built on none at all, some would say, those who are sticklers for truth, those who are pedants. Ships do not have foundations. Only hollow hulls.
I whip round, face out to sea once more. I lift the binoculars, blinking as the ship fills my vision. A solitary figure is standing on the deck, binoculars trained on me.
He waves in return.
I wait for his return. There is nothing else that I can do.