I am in Savannah today for business. It was a long day. Not at all bad, just long. And by the time it got done I was ready for dinner and some mental cotton candy. So, I scooped up a new book I've been looking forward to and tucked it in my red purse, zipped my coat up to my neck since it's roughly the temperature of Siberia, and headed toward the river to a little Greek restaurant for an evening of light reading and heavy food.
The stairs that go from Bay down to River are narrow and old, so I kept my head down to watch as I descended. It wasn't until I was safely on the cobbled street below that I glanced up and saw it. An old-fashioned ship, complete with masts and a crow's nest, and it's name, Peacemaker, etched along the prow in gilt letters. (Prow? Stern? Bow? Poop deck? I'm not sure what you call the back....Prow sounds the best in context, though so we'll stick with that.)
It rode sedately there on the water, just behind one of the ornate fountains that decorate River Street.
For half a second it was two centuries ago.
I love it when you get a magic moment that transports you out of the mundane. They are all the more precious because they're fleeting and rare.
Thank you, Father Dearest, for the little reminders that you are timeless, ageless, and magic. For moments of refreshment and wonder that remind me I am not of this world, nor bound to it forever.