Wanderlust
By J. L. Young I come to the inlet for my weekly constitutional. There, the many beasts on exhibition at the menagerie mill about their cages. I especially love the tigers. Some dull-witted guests are daft enough to reach between the bars to give them a pet. To my knowledge, none of the white furred beasts have taken a meal of an arm. While I find the cold sea air invigorating, I long to be elsewhere. Where it is I desire to be? That is somewhere I have, as of yet, to determine. A suggestion has come from a confidant, allow a suitor to woo me and that will satiate my wanderlust. I haven’t the heart to tell my advocate. Although their meaning is decidedly wholesome, she can bugger off. Do I desire to travel the gray sea I peer at longingly? Or do the uncharted lands hold sway over me? I stole another look at the tiger cubs pouncing on their mother’s tail before my boots clapped on the peer. With passage purchased and the sails unfurled, my adventure lies ahead. The captain requested my presence for dinner that eve. I obliged. Between bites of his fish he queried, “You grace old oak with such beauty and form, I ask, Miss Bell, whatever possessed your mind to cast convention astern?” “Please me Perdita. I have read many books, learned from the scholars, and all they have done is give me a desire. Not of academia, but to find the dragons beyond the tattered and singed edges of the cartograph. To take in the splendor that no word, nor painting, can do justice.” “By my guide, the spirited crew of the Argestes shall calm the sea and her canvas capture the swiftest of the four winds. If a tempest shows herself, I’ll ensure the crew be gentlemanly and not look up her skirt.” His sun kissed cheeks pulled his mouth into the warmest of smiles followed by a wink. “I trust you will, Captain.”
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