Mournful, I stood observing the once ornate merchant’s houses that looked out over the empty, deserted wharves, My sense of nostalgia rising as I remembered the times before, when with each rising tide the hustle and bustle would begin. The rasping breath of steam-powered cranes as they swung the heavy bales from ship to shore. The grunts of heaving stevedores manhandling the trucks, each piled high with sacks and bale, to the gaping wooden, warehouse doors. The squeal of the pulleys calling the unwary to the hooks plummeting to the ground, hungrily anticipating the next profit-making mouthful to be hoisted.
50 Word Thursdays # 32 ~Dockside dirge
Filed under Flash fiction, From the heart, History, Self compositions, Uncategorized
When the pen takes control. 
Like it. Like too, the photo. Is it yours? Both the writing and the photo, wonderfully atmospheric.
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Not mine sadly, reminds me of Yarmouth or Lynn, don’t you think.
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Not Yarmouth. More like Lynn, or maybe even Wells, at high tide. Though possibly Boston. Or even Norwich in parts, but those latters don’t have a river that wide.
So maybe it’s Holland. Or even somewhere around the Baltic. Which says something of the influences around the Norfolk and Lincolnshire coasts.
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Awesome blog yyou have here
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