The Blooming Bright Star of Bell Isle
For those of you who do not know, The Blooming Bright Star of Bell Isle is a traditional Canadian song that was stolen from a traditional Irish song.
It comes from Newfoundland which at the time was very much dominated by fishermen and sailors who would often have to leave their homes for long periods of time. In a way, The Blooming Bright Star told the story of the ideal man and woman.
I realize this isn't a musical or play, but since it's based on a song, I decided to put it here (since there is no such category)
So please enjoy this short fic, based on the song The Blooming Bright Star of Bell Isle
---------------------------------------------------------
Prologue:
It had been a year since I'd returned.
And every night of that year I traveled by foot to Loch Erin.
It was a two hour journey there, and a two hour journey back. Yet still I went… every… single... night.
I wouldn't blame you if thought that I was insane. For it was true. I was. But not in the way you're thinking.
I still remember when first I went- my hands were light with the anticipation of what I might find, while my feet dragged and jumped; excited yet reluctant. And then when at last when I came to the sea and saw how the shadows of the rocks lay bare, I felt my heart collapse. And I sat, and I waited, watching the stars in the sky and the waves crawling and rolling up the beach. It was the latter that I loved most- seeing them appear over and over, over and over, never spilling out onto the grasses, but returning each time to try.
It was there that I first began to sing.
Of course I had always sung- I'd been one of the first on the ships to hoist along to the rhythm of the Grog. But that singing was different. That was for the unity of sailors, and the words were for their foul ears. What I sang upon the cliffs of Loch Erin was different. It was the song of my heart. Of how I wished things had turned out.
Each time I sang, I closed my eyes so that her beauty would not be marred by the stars in the sky. I knew what she would wear, what flowers she would tie into her hair. I knew her voice and her smell, the feeling of her coat and the smallness of her body in my arms. I knew, too, what I would say to her- how I would apologize and kiss away every tear I made her cry.
Yet, though I pictured these things and recited words in my head, I knew in my heart she would never come.
I did not blame her.
Still, I wish more than anything that she could hear the words I want to tell her- that I wrote just for her.
"I own you're the maid I love dearly
You've been in my heart all the while
For me there is no other damsel
Than my blooming bright star of Bell Isle."