A memory of a forgotten time

In the silence of a world that lies momentarily abandoned and forgotten, it is the glow of the breaking morn off the gentle undulations that is the surface of the sea that calls to me. The sea’s surface once broken by wooden structures of a village by the sea, is only broken by the silhouette of a man bent over seemingly awkwardly on a wooden sampan. The sight of the sampan is one that takes me back to a time and a place that now seems so distant, a time when sustenance was sought from the sea and a place where coconut tree lined beaches lined the shore. It is a memory hidden deep in me that I have for long clung very tightly to, a memory of a gentle world, a world found in the many wonderful places of my childhood by the sea which I will never again be able to see.

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