Dream d3621-s: The Sound Rope Takes Hold

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I came to the canal crossing from the direction of the warehouse sheds and found myself at a distance from a worker already at the bollard, crouching, working the frayed mooring line loose.

The damage to the old rope was visible from where I stood: the outer strands had unwound in a long section, pale fibers lifting away from the twist, the whole line wearing a halo of separation where it had rubbed against the iron for too long. The worker drew it off the bollard and laid it on the stones with a deliberate sound, the sound of something set down finally.

The replacement coil hung from one shoulder. They worked a length free and looped it around the bollard with the kind of motion that doesn't need to consider itself, hands knowing what hands do. I could hear the rope whisper through their grip, a dry sliding with friction in it, the sound of good fiber under tension.

The light was a dull silver where water met quay, with enough warmth to show the texture of the stone and the texture of the new rope, which was stiffer than the old, taking the loops cleanly.

A boat was coming. I heard the engine before the hull appeared, a low sound spreading over the water, and then the boat was there, its bow angling toward the quay. The worker stepped back and waited with the loose end of the new line. The throw was short and unhurried. The person at the bow caught it and made it fast without ceremony.

The line went taut. The boat settled against the stone and the rope absorbed the small movements of the water, each small tug met and answered, the hull rocking once and then lying still.

I watched from where I stood. The worker was coiling what remained of the new rope, fingers working in a short automatic loop, the coil building itself back into shape. The frayed length lay on the stones beside them, done with its use but not yet gone.

Nothing was named. Nothing was opened. A quay is a quay and work is work and a moored boat is a quiet thing. The water went on reflecting the pale morning, and the rope was around the bollard, and that was the whole of it.

---