Ficus Macrophylla

This makes me want to keep my feet on the ground. The phrase, “feet on the ground” has for those of us ‘ship folk’, a meaning quite a bit more towards the literal side than it does for the majority of the people who may or may not have uttered it a time or two themselves.

Space. Endless in all directions. The mere thought of walking, with or without purpose for more than 700 uninterrupted feet, is in and of itself, a freedom that has all but faded into distant memory. The vast sky above takes on a different shade of blue, when it’s held in place by a menagerie of men’s (and women’s) dreams, realized in the form of steal and cement structures glued together by the green force of life. It brings to mind the question, “How can I live for months on end without this?”

Sailing in on the gentle spring breeze, arrives a sweet aroma. A horticultural smorgesbourge of subtropical Asia and Australia envelops me. Almost instantly senses long since used, begin to awaken. Awaken as innocently as a child opening its eyes for the first time after nine months of darkness to finally see what all the fuss was about. Awaken as innocently (and as hungry) as a young bear awakens from their first hibernation to find spring as lush and beautiful as all the older bears had told him. From a metallic, stale beer dust cloud induced coma, I awaken, fresh and new, after an undetermined amount of time spent living in what may affectionately be called, (with dark, sarcastic undertones of course), ship life…(chuck chick)

A postcard picturesque landscape, framed by the fingertips of a Ficus Macrophylla, leaves in a state of spellbound awe, the heart of any set of eyes that may open long enough to capture a glimpse of it’s beauty. The giant Morton Bay Fig, as it’s known to the common folk, loosens its grip ever so slightly. From between it’s long, twisted fingers drips the warm, life giving rays of sunshine. It’s soaks me inside to out, finding it’s way through every part of my being as it passes through on it’s way down to rest upon the calm waters of Sydney Harbor.

There it glistens, staring boldly back at the face of it’s creator. I watch in admiration, as it moves with a sense of confidence and direction that I, while able to put on a good show of it, secretly wish I had. Unaware of any audience, it moves as gracefully as a single raindrop finding it’s own path down a well-polished windscreen, unafraid of ever missing a step. Uninhibited by it’s own nakedness, it dances. Full of hope and passion, angst, and aggression, smiles, tears, courage, fears…and above all, love…it dances the dance of humanity.