Alder

^ Geocaching < Optimistically awaits each sunset that a green flash might transcend ordinary circumstance into Holy Grail and so capture the essence of our daily offering. V = How do you plan to employ the Summer of 07.

bigeye

Mahi

Shifty

Berry

Alder struggled with his overwhelming desire to hold Murin close and calm the tender woman that wept before him, but scrutinizing his actions became tantamount. He paused to reconsider as his heart fought with his intellect. What might he otherwise offer in consolation toward a fellow crewmember on a ship of men alone? He considered well the intimacy he longed to share, though painfully cognizant that such displays must be reserved for; God willing, another time and place. Alder placed a paternal hand upon her shoulder and softly spoke with all confidence. “Dearest Lady, all will be well.” Murin looked up into Alder’s reassuring eyes and her chest heaving a stuttered sigh as he gently smiled and slowly withdrew his hand. Murin’s eyes traced his motion, recording the warmth of his hand’s powerful presence wanting this welcomed measure of the man to never wane. At last, she turned back to his resonant tone. “Sweet, sweet woman, you present all the surprise and strength of a summer squall and still. . . the gentle heart of zephyr that beats within.” he did not wish to dissuade her advances, but he knew he must, for both their sakes. He leaned in precariously close given his state, though offered what might well be considered congenial and proper space and spoke softly “Fear not, that this calm that you must know from me will everlast.” Deliberatly vague, he dare not say another word on the matter. Murin nodded, heard his cryptic words and struggled only briefly to encode them before dismissing the content for the meaning in his tone. There was a sense of certainty with this man that put her at ease and bound her reason to higher purpose. She felt assured, and strong in his presence, despite the trembling of passion that coursed just beneath the surface. In the absence of Miss Ashcombe, Alder had imagined fruitful conversations; a continuance of their discussion on Aesop, island foliage or the like. He craved anything to offer him a deeper glimpse into Murin’s world. Although expressions flowed fluently, there were few words. His grieving soul; ached to freely offer conscription alongside the journey of such a lass, an emotional extravagance he had forbade until of late and now he found he must quell once again. The time for all to part grew neigh. Conversations within the tavern splintered into farewells and remaining familiar crew members and patrons filed past narrow corridors of people, tables and chairs. Many clambered up-stairs navigating floors that swayed from libation as recognizably as rigging that may rock underfoot. Alder escorted Murin to her room, noting well its place and position in the architecture, that he may act as sentinel upon his return. They paused in the empty hallway at the threshold of her door. He tore his eyes from the allure of her enveloping bashful smile and risked much a he lifted and turned her hand over to place a tender kiss upon her palm. As his thumb caressing her fingers in a last embrace, her sullen hand fell empty and to her side. Even as the gesture narrowed a gap between them, Murin felt an unmistakable detachment. A tear again welled in her eye though her words of earlier “I’m worried fer dem.” echoed only upon the receptive frequency of silent longing. “Yes, Lass” Alder replied to her unspoken contemplation as he turned to leave. “Rest. . .” I will see what of Mr. Pew” came the resounding but troubled voice from over his shoulder as his silhouette vanished around a corner. Hearing the closing of her door and the assuring fastening of latch, he exited the hall with more urgency. Knowing he could not find any semblance of peace without more current news of Mr. Pew, Alder set about the dank, dark streets to acquirer the same.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” Mark Twain

Fraught with concern over the sudden departure and the obviously morose mutterings betwixt the crew remaining in the tavern, Alder proceeded to the table of the concerned fellows. In light of Captain Lasseter’s open reproach and his newness to the fold, the carpenter’s arrival at tableside was not met with an immediate welcome. And, although Alder understood this social dynamic well, he would not be cast off so easily. He was confident his allegiance to vessel and venturer would ultimately forge a lasting alliance. His future as that of every seamen depended upon the same. And thus it was as he gathered news of the fellow who had taken ill. As he listened on intently, ferreting out fact from fears, the seriousness of the condition unfolded. Alder grasped his St. Joseph’s medal and breathed a silent prayer on behalf of Mr. Pew. Begging his leave, he parted with the sincere request that he be sought out were there any service he could offer. Faces paled and already weary expressions fell. Aghast by the realization that his trade forged coffins as readily as it wielded caulk, he cautiously eased the tone with a toast. “To Mr. Pew, may his strength be restored to overflowing that we be long favored by his counsel” A chorus of utterances tempered by the somber tone was set aloft as tankards were drained and Alder humbly faded back toward his seat beside Miss McDonough. As he rounded his seat, her poorly-cloaked distress became apparent. Eyes that once glistened as she spun in his arms now pooled with raw emotion. The small quiver dancing upon her sweet lips beseeched answers to unspoken but gnawing questions. Even as his nascent adoration and need to comfort compelled him to pull the lamenting lass toward him, every sinew in his being screamed to be back aboard the Watch Dog to once again be immerse in his work and free from life’s complications.

Yarn

Madame

balzo

DINTY MOORE

Overcome by sudden misgivings for his advances and the obvious embarrassment of Miss McDonough, Alder was nevertheless impressed by the stalwart nature of Captain Lasseter's admonishment, if not his foreboding caveat. Preferring to draw less attention and ease his partner, Alder resumed the dance in more reserve fashion; questioning his own understanding of decorum in this setting; and on this, the Sabbath as well. Temperance, he thought as he peered deeply into Murin’s welling eyes, perhaps abstinence altogether might be best, he smiled a smile that belied his agonizing doubts. This night, he would pray to his patron, St. Joseph for strength and for guidance. It was not in the carpenter’s nature to arouse undue stir; preferring to ease into the woodwork that he so prized. Uncertainty clouded his mind. What was he thinking, to arise from prisoner to this so soon after the abandonment of homeland, so soon after the tyranny of the ill-mannered and oppressive Captain that kept doused the fire of his spirit? The former Alder could not consider venturing to reach out for life’s pleasures, save his craft. Had he not been so welcomed aboard the crew, so rewarded by satisfaction of task and taskmaster he may never have emerged beyond his misogynistic vision of life aboard such a vessel. The music began to languish into the distance as he guided Miss McDonough to the table identified only by the uncomfortably fidgeting Miss Ashcombe and now absent of Bly and Captain Lasseter. How had this come to pass? Once embolden as an escort, he felt strangely isolated as he scanned the room noticeably devoid of many familiar faces of fellow crewmen.

The evening held the trappings of as casual a social gathering as any might, save two voices so set to the frequency betwixt one another that the drone of the surrounding crowd faded into the rough hewn timbers. Captain Lasseter lent an inquisitive ear to the sidebar discussion of the Heron and her new appurtenances. Sharing his assessment of the strategic advantage, Alder could not help but project the labors necessary to adequately fortify the ship. Able and eager, the crew he visualized was up to the task; though he became increasingly anxious not to be away from guiding the effort. Alder raised his head above his appreciation of the shared excitement with Miss McDonough as she became understandably distracted by the music that had begun to play. Her eyes closed as her body moved faintly with a tantric pulse that surged Alders interest in an unpardonable manner. Alder could tolerate the distance no longer. “Miss McDonough, if I may be so brazen…” he opened slyly, “might I share thy company in a dance?” Still transfixed by the melody and excited, thought not completely sure of his words, Murin smiled a questioning smile. “Would ya care ta dance Lass?” he softened his formal tone and wore a confidently capricious smile. “Aye” she choked an off-key reply from her diverted humming and straightening her skirt as she stood. Both were completely oblivious to the vexation traversing the floor toward the table they would soon abandon. Ever the mediator; a vital component of his leadership, Captain Lasseter stood and drew Nate’s attention away from the scene. “Mister Bly, ave a drink with me lad.” the Captain directed in more the manner of commanded than request. The draw of Nate’s enraged body toward the duo was unmistakable, though the command of Mister Lasseter bade more power still. Considering well his options, Nate begrudgingly complied. Blissfully unaware, the two cared a space for themselves amongst the celebratory revelers. Dancing had oft been for reserved for Alder’s own delectation, though on this occasion it was her pleasure he considered foremost. The carpenter skilled in timber and also tempo became but the frame of the portrait of her radiant femininity. Murin’s skirts swirled as Alder adeptly lifted her hand aloft, creating space between that neither craved, but space which the two would once again rejoin. Her agility matched his fluid movements as artistically on the floor as such gifts were practically applied aboard their vessel. He displayed her on the floor, a glowing jewel in the setting of his arms. The shadows of the many dancers played in sepia tone against softened brick and rough hewn logs of the tavern. Wrought iron bands dripping with wax embraced thick columns of ivory; flame sputtered atop wicks licked by a subtle breeze. Assessing and reassessing the stage, Alder wanted to be certain the aristocratic moves to which he was accustomed were measured for the setting and his partner. Murin glanced back toward her friend Jenny for feminine confirmation. To Murin’s surprise, Miss Ashcombe wore a look of some concern. She directed Murin’s view over to Nathan who was not so rapt in conversation with the Captain that he could not shoot his consternation Murin’s way. Nathan had taken up Alder’s seat at the covey of crew, possessively resting his arm on the carved backrest of the chair that had been hers. Miss McDonough was taken aback by his severe expression. Her dance partner could not help but notice the abrupt change in her step and spun her closer to track the cause. Bound well by his embrace Murin’s expression melted into a reserve smile. Feeling the unnatural distance that force it’s way between, he looked over her shoulder at source of her dismay. Nathan Bly! Of course, Alder should have known he would not so easily be rid of the meddlesome pest, who; by all accounts this evening, appeared one dram shy good sense. Murin felt the carpenter tense and with that, held him firmly, assuredly closer as the tempo of the shanty calmed to gentle refrain. Nathan’s blood was fevered by their familiarity and the elixir that blended with the jealousy coursing through his veins. To somewhat complicate the standing, Alder could just make out the reflective glint of metal tucked neatly in the sash wrapped at Mister Bly’s waist.

“Miss Ashcombe, it would be a pleasure beyond compare to continue to share such delightful company.” Alder’s smile radiated warmth as he reveled in this, his good fortune. He had been oft reminded by his father, that the world will offer you that which you wish. Father however, had not intended this manner of existence to be his eldest son’s desire, though he could not abide the quenching of their shared passion for adventure. In many ways, the elder Wenge bore a pang of responsibility for his son's nature; making the tears of his wife even harder to endure as Alder had announced his departure. As tighter knit cobblestone emerged upon the path, Alder experienced a disturbing churn deep within his belly; the scent of mouth-watering fare wafted toward the trio. The need for sustenance may have been abated by the delicious distraction with absinthe eyes, but his flesh demanded more. He would be certain; nevertheless, to forgo celebratory, over indulgence in the “water of life” to a more fraternal gathering. Unlike his father, his sense of responsibility both bound and freed him. He would not consider impeding his capacity while he escorted the lasses. Many a rogue would welcome the opportunity to lightening coin from an unwary party or . . . worse. Alder would not permit his imaginings to venture there, save as a reminder that his carnal pleasures must be tempered by duty. Thought well-skilled, he could not help but appreciate the many that came ashore well- armed… he was not. He appreciated it may take measurable time for his new Captain to fully gain his trust. It was how it must be, how it should be. Alder began to make out ever more familiar elements in the architecture as they traveled closer, until the sign "Le Chateau Anse" came into view. Indeed, he sighed to himself, as he viewed the dream made flesh by his side. His inner monolog continued, we have tarried quite long enough. The time is ripe for more poetic, perchance private exchange. He pried the formidable carved door from it’s frame, releasing sound and scent to pour into the street. Assured the passage was safe, Alder ushered the ladies ahead of him. “Ladies, we have at last arrived” his voice could be scarcely heard above the boisterous posturing and mating calls of the loquacious patrons as they entered the tavern that adjoined the Inn. Alder hope they might fall upon an overlooked or abandoned niche that might buffer the surroundings. He scanned the room and was met by the recognizable visage of crewmates immersed in exchanges of their own.

down

“Indeed Lass, there is” he said rifling through the genus and species names that tumbled into the forefront of his mind. “I believe this to be Pink Heliotrope” Heliotropum arboresccens. Helios was the Greek god of the sun." he continued "The flower so named because it’s face tracks the sun's path across the sky from east to west.” Alder pointed in the general direction of travel but stopped midway becoming uncomfortably self-conscious of his grand display. The professorial tone that spilled from his lips coupled with his realization of the bewildered but smitten gaze up at him, made Alder feel less of a botanical aficionado than a bumbling gascon. Without another word, without another thought, he plucked a cluster of the tiny blossoms from its greenery and neatly tucked it past the gentle curve of Murin’s ear. Alder was delighted that she did not recoil at his sudden advancement, but instead stood, firmly rooted as his hand met skin. There was in that instant a subtle but innate tremor, ascribable to both. Alder stood, likewise fixed; beguiled by this winsome creature. “Would that Aesop wrote of flowers and not of beasts, this spray would be humbled to be framed by such a gorgeous flower.” Alder orated as he bowed, smiled broadly, never taking his eyes off of the blossoming young woman.

Tyne's brother Tim with mustache a must. Daly's a bit too crisp to play me without it.

tent

Twins For both brands

Alder had smiled to himself at the distracting echo of girlish giggling behind his back and still bore the remnant of his delight as he was introduced to Miss McDonough’s companion. A polite bow sanctified the meeting of Miss Ashcombe, who had unknowingly endeared herself in the caring she had shown his favored crewmate. “Nay, Lass,” he interrupted, turning to acknowledging Miss Ashcombe and then fixed his gaze on Murin “Tis my good fortune to be guardian of such striking company.” Speechless, Murin looked into his eyes awaiting the next steps of her journey; steps that were to be accompanied by one doughty, carpenter poet. Her delicate arm neatly tucked through the handle of the basket of newly acquired ware. A neatly tied stack of text burdened the other. “May I?” he asked looking at her pack while tossing his bag handily over his shoulder leaving his broad arms free to carry.” Nodding only, Murin leaned toward Alder offering her purchase. She gasped slightly, nearly dropping the books, as the wool of his forearm brushed firmly against her skin. Thankfully his spry nerves, piqued by present company, fired without missing a mark, retrieved the package in comfortable manner. Detracting from the instance for the benefit of both ladies, Alder initiated casual discourse of the texts in hand. Ignoring the obvious instructional text having no desire to vitiate her intent; instead, he was thrilled at the prospect of feeding her desire to learn, he began as he took the first steps toward the Inn. “Aesop’s Fables, some of my favorite tales.” Alder opened with a pause. He wondered which of the fabled beasts best suited the role he now played. What myriad of moral dilemmas would the slave-author Aesop reveal to them both, were they to share his verse? How alike the writer of humble fate and this gentle creature beside him. She who struggled with lexis though so wonderfully naïve as he the learned fool agonized, awaiting each word that dripped from her sapid lips. Murin looked toward Jenny as she returned a capricious smile. Her confidence, bolstered by that of her companion, coupled with her determination to attain greater understandings, transformed her stride with a self-assured bearing. Alder couldn’t help but noticed as his posture aligning to match her own in the realization that this lass held within sufficient wisdom to parley amongst the greatest breadth of humanity. Mere inches apart, the three strode ever nearer the Inn. Alder’s restless heart beat with the resounding rhythm of mallet striking well-placed iron. How like the caulk, imbedding deeper into the seam with each shift of the vessel, this satisfaction was bearing fully into his soul.

let 'er

^ A challenge to slow a buzy mind; then deep wnough to miss the arrival and depatrue of a tornado. < Loving the cool, morning breeze from the wondow above my bed. V How do you prefer to awaken?

sleet

Alder’s eyes gazed upward ever so briefly in thanking his maker, he then bowed gently and with all earnestness toward the lass. “It would be my honor and good fortune to escort you Miss McDonough.” Standing full upright again he dwarfed the gentle soul before him. “But first, my goode woman” he smiled at nary more than the blossom of such, I shall summon the shop keeper . . .” relieved by her conversation, and now more comfortably animated, he spied the room, one brow playfully raised “from whatever hiding place he has found that he may serve you.” Alder bade a measured retreat past the rows of shelves and stacked supplies in search of the keeper. He repositioned his rattling bag of timber samples higher over his shoulder and closer to his form as he pressed into narrow passages. The sooner the keep was found, the sooner the carpenter would be on his way; ideally, with the lass, perhaps with two. He did not wish to steal Murin away from her friend, though he hoped the seemingly sophisticated lady in her company may take her leave by choice. With or without, either scenario suited. He did not wish to tempt the fates by being too demanding. As he narrowed his search to the last potential vestiges of isolation in the shop, his mind wandered to the moment when they might sit opposite one another. Alder could scarcely wait for the intoxicating opportunity to have her scent and sound all to himself. “Good day Sir, may I assist you?” came a voice from behind him somewhat agitated from repeating the echoed query. Lost in the moment, Alder was oblivious the pretentious keep had skulked up behind him. He spun, thunderstruck and paused calming his addled mind. “Yes, why yes you may. I have need of a new journal, and some writing tools.” he began, “But there are two other patrons in need of your assistance straight away.” Alder gestured toward the entrance to the shop and bade the man follow him. Wanting not only to remain close, but also to shield Murin from any ignorance the pompous vendor might present, Alder awaited the presentation of her needs before busing himself with his selections.