In the absence of a guest writer today, the editors had a bit of fun.  Abby chose a photo and sent it with the prompt “Where is it going?”, requesting just a few paragraphs in response.  Here are our takes.

Abby

Where is it going? Out to sea, of course. Everything’s ready. The galley has been stocked with food for the trip, and the berths down below have fresh linens. The navigators have readied the maps, charting each current and noting what constellations will be overhead at each part of the journey. The travelers have made plans for arrival: black ink on white paper has made the journey before them, and now hope burns on the other side of the sea like Gatsby’s proverbial green light. The deck has been swept and ropes have been coiled so no one trips. The sails are hoisted, each one ready to pull tight or let loose as the wind leads. And speaking of wind, it looks like a great day for a sail. A brisk breeze is stirring, and the sun is shining, and all that’s left to do heave up the anchor, untie from the dock, and push out into the dark sea. The captain gives the signal.

And nothing.

It seems one detail has been overlooked. Murmurs rumble across the deck and down into the belly of the ship. Instead of navy waves sparkling with white slapping against the hull, a great expanse of brown fills each porthole. Landlocked. All dressed up with nowhere to go. How could this have happened? To whom had this most important detail been entrusted?

Where are we going?

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