I hear the two-toned brrring of the bell.
It’s sharp. It’s harsh. But it’s regular.
In the endless crashing waves of life
The bell is the lighthouse, calling out,
Telling me that the deadlines are coming.
I am thrown about. Each wave, each gust of wind,
Sends me toward the rocky shore.
The crash of water on rocks calls words of failure.
“Put up the storm trysail. Tack left.”
A stray rock scratches the hull. We’re taking on water.
But the storm passes. I made it through. I see the blue sky of success.
I patch the hole, bail the water.
Then I hear it again.
Brrring. Monday.
Brrring. Tuesday.
Brrring. Another test. Another scratch. Another gap in the clouds.
The waves are unpredictable, yet predictable in the way they flow.
I know they will continue to come.
They will toss me, and then they’re gone.
I can avoid some of them.
I can sail through the rest of them.
But I know that they will continue to crash.
Soon I will dock.
I will cross from the Southern Ocean to the Atlantic.
I will face new weather, different waves.
But, still strong, I will sail.
I will continue to improve my ship.
I don’t know where I will end, but I know where I want to go.
My voyage, four years to go.
Alex Livingston – Year 12
