Inspired by Jane Austen, the Danish artists Anna and Michael Anker, P.S. Krøyer, and many more.


The Sea

The clouds were dark above her. Filled with condensation and wetness that could be released upon her at ever moment. The one she was looking at right then was the colour and shape of an ambolt; originally a clear silver colour from the metal it was made of, it was now cloaked in the black soot of the smithy. This dark omen right above her head disquieted her, and she looked away. She hated the black bleakness of a blacksmith and to see it painted even on the heavens made her shudder.

Her eye caught another cloud formation towards the west. She sighed heavily as if releasing a large burden and a small smile graced her lips for the first time in weeks. The dark clouds looked as if they were fleeing from the west – away from the setting sun that shone in bright red and orange colours. It was as if an artist had brushed his brush across the skies to be rid of the darkness. The dark, black clouds, although tightly amassing in the east, were lighter and wavy – less substantial – here in the face of the sun.

Her eyes now sought the horizon of the sea, the sea which was deadly clam after the storm of last night. Hope mingled with fear and despair as she swept the large sea that lay at her feet. The sea, as always, was unpredictable, a force one could not calculate and put into a table, and even as she stood at a distance from the shoreline, the water suddenly lapped at her feet. She stepped back, but no curse crossed her lips as she felt her toes go numb with the coldness of the water. Her eyes continued to search, examine, attempt an analysis of these waters that she had lived with all her life. But she knew that she could not wrest the sea’s secrets from it; they would either be revealed or forever remain hidden. She knew what a storm like the one last night meant, but she refused to look death and despair in the face.

The sea was as dark as the skies in the east, as unintelligible and murky, as threatening and anxiety-awakening. She could tell nothing from it – and knew better than to expect to be able to. It refused to give up its secrets, not even to her, a long-time confident and secret little friend. For although her surroundings had always warned her against the sea, and she had heard and seen it take away many of her relatives, she had always harboured a secret respect and admiration – even love – for the waters that could give so much happiness and joy, and provide a livelihood, and take it away as quickly as it had been given.

She understood the waters because they reminded her so much of herself.


July 2007





Short story by Lea Foverskov
Read 568 times
Written on 2007-09-23 at 12:34

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Winston Latanafrancia Soldevilla
A metaphor so vividly showcased. Breathtaking!
I guess I have to read this one again. It feels great to read your work. I am honored.
2007-09-30