Location: the waves, the ocean

Hoist the sails, raise yer bloody goblets, ahoy & onward me laddies!

Monday, April 11, 2005

The Trumpet Sounds Another Year

Aye me lads & lassies, yer captain's calendar turns today, ere the sun sets o'er those distant hills. The pages of me journals grow deeper & the more yellow with time & tide & such, & the years now pass along with their plaintive sigh, familiar little devils aye. 'Tis a time of reflection, aye, the birth-day of a cap'n, a time to pace the forecastle & spy yer spoils, a time to peek sunward at the flowing majesty of yer jolly roger, a time to indulge in the warm & comforting company of the sea-mammal, aye. A good year it has been me lads, with many a trial, many a tribulation, many a battle fought while the dying red sun warred against the paledark sky. But here I be, in one piece mainly, me good leg still good, me peg on tight, & me parrot patched & blessed congenitally with a fair voice for song. Me days have been tempered with many things, aye laddies, & me travels 'ave taken me ship to ports methought outside the maps. I have been fortune's pawn, aye to be sure, but fortune 'as played her game with unerring tenacity of pursuit, & though I be scarred & sunburnt & me list of complaints be considerable, me list of details meriting gratitude be more ample, aye. 'Tis a good life, the life of the pirate, save for when it is bad, at which times, it can only be described as being bad (except at the tail end, when it again appears good). Aye, 'twixt the two the whole gammit of being, lads. Birth-days like bookends around our formidable pursuits do wrap. I would only that some kind lad would ferry me Elanore to me here & stop her hands a'toiling in that dungeon of a distillery. I would too that she brought some fine whiskey & a draught or two of Spanish port & tawny, for me gullet be dry this morn. Lads, let it be a day of wishes, aye, & in the morrow we'll weigh our hopes & our realities & find some balance. I will to me cabin for a sip of morning rum, aye, to me birth-day!


Anonymous BeardBeard said...

Aye, the years do sail past ye. It is upon these unfort'nate annivers'ries I find meself locked in the cabin with me parrot. I give the gift, contrary to tradition -- a pearl necklace, perhaps, or some piece of exotic cloth. She receives, and spreads her wings gratefully. 'Tis a beauty to behold, and warms the weariness of advancing years.

12:08 PM  
Anonymous BeardBeard said...

That dirty, whoring parrot!

12:09 PM  

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