The docks are part of my daily walk.
I stop for a snack.
Watch the watery movement.
When a wooden ship with masts and sails moors,
I get tears in my eyes.
So full of history
Family stories. Family history.
Crammed into steerage, my ancestors made the dangerous crossings.
Staking lives on the voyage for the chance at freedom; to a land with a magical horizon.
Green and golden yellow stretching out forever. Empty spaces. City skylines.
Full of promise. Full of hope.
But prejudice also made the voyage.
Voices spoke with contempt. Underlined with fear.
Vicious words. Physical attacks. Attempts at genocide.
Finding refuge with other outcasts of society.
Creating communities. Forming families.
Making a home for themselves.
Brings tears to my eyes.
Making a home for me.
Beneath your feet.
Up in your walls.
Written on a whimsical Sunday for Sunday Photo Fiction, created by Al, the playful photo fictioneer.