NIGHT PRAYER

Its late. I'm in my favourite chair in the lounge,

An old "re-done" wingback rocker

As you could find in any small-town country home.

I like old things - 

"Oupa, why is your furniture so old?"

"I like it that way, my boy"

The lights are off.

TV's off.

I am alone.

There's a Sou'-Easter blowing

Smashing pine-tree branches together

In the pauses I hear waves break on the beach.

The ceiling creaks.

A clock ticks.

A lived-in house is a living thing.

It sighs, turns in its sleep, rearranges its arms,

And dreams on. Like a child.

What am I doing? (I ask myself)

- I think I'm praying.

Is this praying?

It's not a silent prayer 

- It’s a wordless prayer

A wordless "thank you" prayer.

If you listen carefully in the silence

You hear your heart beat in your ears

Comforting, rock-steady.

Once, very early on a summer morning, 

I stood on the waterline at Sandy Bay

Not a soul in sight, nothing moved

The sea was like glass – not a ripple, not a sound,

Except - this heartbeat in my ears.

Then I heard a counter-beat

Beat for beat it matched my heart

Each beat a fraction later than mine

A bass beat, from over the sea.

I looked for its source. 

At first I saw nothing.

Then the bow of a ship emerged from behind a rock on the right. 

The beat was that of its diesel engine coming over the water.

Steadily it traversed the full breadth of my vision, then disappeared behind a rock on the left.

And the sound of its engine receded

And silence resumed.

They say that whales call to each other, and recognise each other’s “voices” 

From ocean to ocean.

Can that be?

Do the ships deafen them?

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© Harry Friedland October 2022

"MARIMBA"