THE SHIP
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue lagoon. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until, at length, she is only a ribbon of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone!” Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. Her diminished size is in me, not in her, and just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There, she is gone,” there are other voices glad to take up the shout, “There, she comes.” My Rendez-Vous With Life by Mary Pickford.
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