Tip-tap-toeing down the brick lined halls, Clack-click-clacking off the brick lined walls, Tap-tip-tapping from the leather lined shoes, Clap-clip-clopping we're off to a muse. The lady would sit on the wall overlooking the sea, gazing out to the distant horizon while absent-mindedly brushing her long flowing locks of hair. The constant sea-breeze would cause her hair and clothing to billow out behind her, while carrying to her the scent of far off places. The crashing of waves on the rocks far below were like primordial roars of a younger, untamed world. Each day in her lonliness awaiting the return of her provider and her comforter, the father of her children. He on his ship, fighting storms, monotony, and an imaginary foe, the image of his fair maiden locked in an embrace with some dashing landlubber. He too gazes at the horizon, but back towards home to the east. In anger and frustration, his anticipation a burdon to bear. A beginning an ending, a constant affair....
