070: We Would

There was a time when I would offer my arm and you would take it. Youngest and oldest of five, we slipped away to the shore. I taught you the swish and flick of skipping stones, and you collected crab claws that the seagulls had dropped. On warmer days we waded out into the water. I rolled my trouser-legs up to the knees, and you tied your skirts up.

When you grew older and married, all three of us would go away inland. We would find rivers and lakes to bathe in. Afterwards, warmed by the sun, we would fall asleep in the grass.

Sometimes we came across strangers who we took up with for a few miles. We listened to their stories and told a few of our own. Eventually, when spring and summer turned into autumn, we went home again. Our journeys kept us through the winter. We huddled around the fireplace in thick furs and told each other stories. When winter ceased, we started planning our next journey.

I like to think that those were good years—for all of us. We looked after each other, cared for each other, and made fun of each other. Of course we had our boundaries, but we respected them. We were going to stick together till the end.

So who decided that I should watch your burning ships leave the shore to wailing winds?

Written by: Katrine H. (@katrinehjulstad on Instagram)