Dingle Port


I picked a spot where the rotten fish smell dissipates. There is a perfect break between the bars, just right for sitting.

The sun shines bright and the dancing ripples below my feet glisten the rays back to the sky. A breeze gently rustles my hair while the sun kisses my porcelain skin.

Then and there, this moment in Dingle Port is where I want to live. Sitting on the pavement five feet up from the water smidgen with algae is a little piece of heaven on earth.

On the other side of the port is a row of pastel row houses. In the pearly Green-blue water sits bitty boats waiting for their captains. A peace settles just over there where the houses meet the port and over there where the boats bob.

Inviting, that’s what the water is. It is so tempting to just leap in, right then and there.

That’s when it becomes real. The distance I really am from the place I call home. The ripples would swallow me up and the vastness would make me feel so small if I let myself leap into the water. How long would it really take me to swim across “the pond”?

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