The Buoy

The osprey leapt up from the water, desperately clutching its prized catch. Nearly an hour of fruitless diving had taken its toll, and so the starving bird began its weary journey back to its nest. A dense fog ceaselessly covered the river, making navigation nearly impossible for all but the most well-adjusted. The osprey, just as all the other living beings that made their home on the river, knew not how it had come to live there; it knew only the path back to its nest atop the buoy by following the clarion call of its bell. Every day, the lonely bird repeated its hunt, searching for unaware trout on the surface of the obsidian waves. Every day, the river composed itself in new and myriad patterns as the wind dictated.

The trout stared listlessly into the water as the osprey neared its home.

The young seaman awoke to an impenetrable blanket of fog that shrouded his vision beyond the edge of his vessel. How long had he been asleep? It seemed only moments ago that he was pulling up his crab pots in the waters of the bay, counting his harvest with the sun on his face while the water sparkled as it does only on a midsummer’s day. Now he could not see anything, save for the faint light of a single buoy in the distance. Undeterred, the seaman made for the buoy; perhaps it could reveal to him how far downriver he had drifted.

As the old boat neared, the osprey took flight and abandoned its prey. The young seaman was dismayed to find that there were no markings of any kind to be found on the floating structure. Strangely, the buoy appeared as though it had never possessed any such markings despite its apparent advanced age. The red paint that had once adorned it had disappeared long ago, and rust now all but covered it. Nevertheless, the lantern continued to shine blearily into the fog, the only light on the water as far as the seaman could see. Confused and disheartened, the young man began to wonder how he would ever find his way back to the bay that he knew so well. Staring listlessly into the water, he felt his hope being slowly carried away by the waves. In despair, he turned his eyes to the lantern, hoping it would illuminate something in the distance. Instantly, he was reminded of his childhood, where he would spend his days on his father’s boat, staring into the sky while his father fruitlessly attempted to teach him to tong for oysters. Somewhere, on the edge of his mind, he remembered his father telling him stories of how oysters were once so abundant that old colonial roads were paved with their shells.

The gentle ringing of the bell stirred him from his reverie, and the boy began to weep. His tears, however, disappeared namelessly into the waves and his sobs were swallowed up by the fog. At that moment, the young seaman knew precisely what he needed to do. The osprey watched intently from afar as the seaman wordlessly reached out for the lantern. Though it was securely fastened at one point, time had weakened its bonds, and with a metallic groan the lantern came free. The young man quickly affixed the light to the bow of his vessel and began making his way back home, his head filled with the songs his mother would sing him to sleep with in days long past.

The lantern upon his bow shone brightly, effortlessly cutting through the dense fog and glancing upon the surface of the water.

The dead bell rang plaintively as the osprey returned to its nest.