Brilliant Boats by Tony Mitton & Ant Parker – Read Aloud Story for Kids

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Brilliant Boats by Tony Mitton & Ant Parker – Read Aloud Story for Kids

Join us on another rhyming journey from the Amazing Machines Series: Brilliant Boats. Sail with the jolly crew of animals as we explore sail boats, row boats, ferries, motor boats and cruise liners.

Brilliant Boats by Tony Mitton (Author), Ant Parker (Illustrator)

Get the book here at amazon:
http://fave.co/2r2UZMZ

Series: Amazing Machines
Paperback: 22 pages

Some people just love getting out on the water every chance they get. These types of adventurous outdoorsy men and women love to camp, hike, raft, fish, mountain climb or any other number of activities that involved being in the great wide open. For some, having your own boat makes being able to take advantage of the outdoors on a whim is much easier to do. Not everyone can afford, store or even wants a standard water craft, that’s where boating sets can be a good happy medium between not having a boat and having a regular boat.

What’s Included With Boating Sets

Different sets depend on price as well as manufacturer. So, it can really depend on how much you need to get from your set, as well as how much you can afford to spend. If you already have some components that may be included in a set, you may not need a large set or one at all. On the other hand, if you are just starting out getting into boating as a hobby or have not yet purchased any boating supplies before, a set might be just right for you.

It is a good idea to look around and see what kinds of sets are available and which one would work best for you. So, for example, a basic set is the majority of what is available on the market. The basic common boating set includes inflatable boat, a pump and oars and that would be it. Other things can be included, or you can stick with the basics and add on as you please.

Things like repair patches for you inflatable boat are important to have. You should also have life vests for each member of the family or enough for as many people the boat fits. The price of sets varies depending on how many people the boat seats. Also, the brand as well as the quality of the construction and even the material used to make the boat will all factor into the price of the set. A more extensive set will also have items like seat cushions, a pouch for easy carrying and storage of different components and other things like that.

Boat Certificate of Origin

Keep in mind, you will need a certificate of origin when you get your boat. You can do this easily once you have your craft. While cars have a VIN which is a Vehicle Identification Number boats have a HIN, which is a Hull Identification Number. Once you have this number you can go to intexcorp to register the boat. On the official site you will be able to either register the number by selecting your state firstFree Reprint Articles, or by clicking on one of the styles of boats available to register. You can then print your Certificate of Origin. You can take care of all of that once you have selected from boating sets and gotten yours.

{pixabay|100|campaign}“Sunlight”, a short story.
During a waking period, so long ago, I had been using my hands to feel out my dark universe, a smooth and featureless space, until I found a crack, a loose piece, a flaw. It only took me a few moments to free that first shard.

I felt joy, the first positive emotion in my memory of that place. Changing my environment had become my single purpose. It gave me strength to know that that dark place was made of flesh just like myself, open to change and influence. I could tunnel and escape the lifeless womb of my existence. My waking periods were occupied by still and empty dreams.

The work left my fingers raw and bloody, but I became more adept each passing moment, and the scabs were a welcome source of novel sensation.
During one rest period, in the middle of work, I was agitated by blobby luminescent shapes that would not disappear, I thought "Hallucinations". It was only when I went to nurse my sore fingers that I realized that I could see. With every shard I pulled out I could see more light. There wasn’t enough to discern colors, merely the difference between light and dark and gross movement. I didn’t know if this illumination was a blessing or a damnation. I decided to use it to my advantage and map out my current location. To find a home in this darkness may, I thought, bring me some sanity.
My home, I learned, was a bright corner in an endless cavern of crystal. I had somehow chosen a slight depression where the crystals met and grew. This tremendous slow pressure cracked the tops of the pillars and gave me a small shelter, a niche, a place to stick my fingers. I had no way of marking time or even feeding myself. I told myself that there was no way I could be alive this long without drinking, eating, pissing, or shitting. And my hair grew longer. I felt hunger gnaw at my belly and my mouth had become dry and sore.

I found little solace in the fact that I was still alive and awake. This was no hell of my choosing. Alone and alive I searched for escape from my dark and dry womb.
Over the waking and resting periods that followed I was filled with a new energy. The initial joy was slowly infected with hope. The moment I could discern the lines and wrinkles in my palm I wept.

I stopped counting the waking and sleeping times, all I knew was the rhythm of the crystal. Sometimes it moaned, a deep animal scream, starting low and reaching terrible pitches, shattering my skull and rending my mind.

When the first full light came it was a quiet time. I had been resting and remembering the largest shard, the one I had nearly killed myself with. I was sitting quietly and there came a small avalanche right in front of me.

Piercing. Pain. Stabbing. Illumination. The shock sent me into unconsciousness, my eyes burned, the energy was a star born through my puny skull. Even after I woke, my vision was bleached, a burned wasteland. The wasteland would be a way out.
I could see day. I could see night. A few days passed. There were such sweet smells, such wonderful sounds. Ten days later I could see, through a small hole, the outside world.

And then, it was taking too long. The desire locked my anxiety, tension, and anticipation into my blood. My heart beat out a tattoo of panic. I poked my fingers through the hole, it taunted me in my prison. My fingers bled out terror. A thin coppery tasting mess.

My fingertips became raw and useless. I could do no more good and I rested. In a slump, on the floor, unconsciousness came in waves, unconnected to the cycles of light and dark from outside. These injuries stopped all progress towards freedom. It was anger that festered in my useless hands.

One morning I found my voice. I croaked and wheezed in my new stimulation. I wrestled for control, to find use. In humming a tuneless wonder I had become more. This new puzzle distracted me enough to let my fingers heal back to usefulness.
That next time I worked at the crystal I paced myself. In the dark, when I was tired, I slept. But this was a different sleep. Shapes, shadow and color invaded my mind’s eye.
The progress was achingly slow, but I did not have any temptation to rush. All the while I was captive audience to the din and melody of outside. Sweet songs, loud crashes, and the gentle whisper of wind. In one hundred days I had made a cavity big enough to fit my head through and all I saw was heaven.

I was inspired by the rolling fields of green I doubled my efforts and kept careful watch of my sensitive bits. I pushed myself past any limits and fell exhausted everyday, dreaming of the light, my light, as it beamed through the window and into the deep and dark recesses of the crystal. It was a white needle to engulf the dread of the past.
Then, slowly, the days became longer and the air warmer. I could hang my head out my window and let my arm dangle towards the sweet glorious green hills below. My face was open, drinking in the light, upturned to splendor. Warmth, radiant breath, sighs of gods on my skin. For days on end I would watch the sun and moon play across the sky in silence or cry with laughing prayer.

The first night I saw the sky burst wet from passing clouds I drew deep mouthfuls of the warm water. Then a breeze blew and dried my face and chilled my skin.

The next day I withdrew from my anticipation and began again to work in earnest. I worked it to the bone. The small moments of recuperation filled my stores with the energy of the joy of perceived freedom.

All the while I made sport of throwing the chunks of crystal back into the violent black from which I came, a dark ebon abyss. I would listen for the final crash each time, but always loose track of the echoes and reverberations. I would yell as well and play off of the darkness. With an armful of the shards I could amuse myself for a whole day. I picked up rhythms of the crystal’s song and accompanied it for the duration of its reverberations.

I wish I could say that there was some magical moment where I knew I was free, some Nirvana. I mostly felt like a fool.

One push of my finger had sent forth an avalanche. The crystal rained down for such a time as my ears had gone deaf. I was blinded by light. It was too much, again. But this I knew to be only temporary, and I savored my sight filled with white.

And an eternity evolved. A fully realized infinity of lifetimes. First: no knowledge.
Second: came time. Third is for color, and fifth is for rhyme.
I knew no direction, I saw no shapes, I knew no thought.

I will become the chronicle of freedom. The echo of the crystal cave shall be my voice and I will speak:

By the time my ears had stopped ringing and I was once again blessed with sight I felt again fully for the first time. The breadth of the world was grand. I was born again of my own free will.

As the days passed into seasons, seasons passed into years. And little did I notice that my home, my birthing prison, was blowing away, becoming less substantial. I finally saw it all come down one evening.

Once again, it was the warm season. The air was dry and thirsty. I quenched my thirst at the small creek at the bottom of a ravine. I made daily treks to the water’s edge and then back again to my crystal home, but sometimes I would linger.

It was one of those nights when I was lying at the shore, letting the water lap at my feet, that the sound came. It was a deep rumbling at the base of my spine, my whole nervous system sang the long forgotten animal screaming I had learned in my crystal womb. I ran and followed the sound back to its source.

The scream sped up, raised in pitch, and then the avalanche came. It was not a damaging rain, but tiny, sparkling stars from destruction. I put out my hand and caught one of the floating shards. It crumbled in my fist, insignificant. It carried no temperature and made only a shy brittle sound torn away from my ears by the ghost screams of its siblings.

I looked up and saw the wind made visible by reflections and refractions of the bright hunter’s Moon rising out of the north. I saw a shower of crystal blood for the free. I slept that night, teased by the spastic moans of my rotted womb crying for naught to the sky. I laid there, beside the broken thing, and fell asleep.

I woke in the bright sunshine, alone and empty. I knew what happened then and I live with it today. I didn’t think that anything was wrong, nor was there any fear. I could not focus on it as a loss, nor gain, nor any palpable emotion. I climbed that well worn trail, ignoring sharp rocks and brambles. I was cold in my own skin, driven by no need or want, but by brute strength of time. I saw the wreckage, but did not weep for my coffin.
I walked around and kicked surviving shards. A little ways in from the cliff I saw the bottomless pit I had thrown large shards into to amuse myself and had sung my primitive songs. It was a toothed gaping maw.

I could still hear the faint and melodic rumbling from deep within. Stray shards were denser closer to the hole. I peered in, leaning over the edge. A universe of reflections attacked my senses. The shards were large at the lip of the hole and wedged into the surrounding rock. Even deeper the shards were clusters and deeper the clusters begat groups and at the limit of my sight, deep into the dark, I saw the crystal whole again.
The prospect of its eventual rebirth frightened me. I ran blind down the trail and out past the creek, past any land I had seen before, I ran out of breath, driven past exhaustion. I ran until the day showed again, and I ran more. The sun burned my skin. I ran towards the sunset.

Quickly, the ridge I had called home disappeared into the horizon. New hills rose before me and more sights filled my eyes then, as I ran, than in the seasons I had seen before, at my home next to the water. Finally, my legs gave out and I pitched straight into a pile of bare earth.

I was unconscious for some time. I was cold when I woke. I think, finally then, the first night after the fall, that I truly felt hunger. It was not that quiet whisper I had easily ignored in my crystal prison, it was a roaring beast.

I do not know where the energy came from, I was faint from the immense pain, delirious. I thrust my hands into the soil and began to dig. The dirt flew in my hair, I did not care, as long as there was food in there. I come upon it quickly, a long brown tuber. It was somehow sweet and bitter. It satisfied, and satiated me.

I put what was left in my dense beard and took leave of my senses. There was no way of measuring time in those luminous moments strung together by a rhythm totally unlike the smooth organic flow of normal time. I can barely piece together enough similar words to map jagged impressions onto a clumsy palette of known things:
It seemed bright, soft and inviting. It bore tendrils of colors, lifelike. Every time I tried to use words, in my own mind, to describe what I was seeing, I faltered in my perception of things. I knew there were colors. I knew there were shapes. Any attempt at counting or perceiving definite attributes, or even a sense of motion, gave me the feeling that my body was folding in on its self. Even that sinking feeling was associated with a perpendicular branch of thought patterns.

Then, a brief tinge of nausea, then a light feeling, a giddiness of sorts. Things that I thought I knew, or remembered, as my eyes, my hands, my face, every part of my body spawned generations of perception. My throat constricted, or my thirst was being quenched. I had no knowledge or memory of what was happening from sight to hearing, to a touch of soft grass, the sight of the warm sun, I think I cried.

And then…

Then, I could tell time. I could sense proper movement in the world in which I sat, cross legged, in the tall grasses. The wind was blowing sweetly and I had another bite of the tuber.

Suns rose and fell. Universes collapsed on my dirty face. Under a tree, in the shade I saw my true face a hundred times in a thousand different ways. How could there be this secret place within my mind for this experience? If it was truly the tuber, or even ripples of the fall of the crystal, I was blessed by the moon as it passed in the pale blue sky. I could see again with my own eyes.

The moons were carried aloft by clouds in the morning and brought back down again by the cold dark night. This time seemed infinite. I could not count. I knew there had been sunshine and then the waning moon in a dark sky. I could not tell how many, they were simultaneous.

Then, came a sound. It could have been the rustling of leaves or the clean crack of thunder.

I felt rain. I danced in the numbers of rain. I could count again. I bathed in the multitude, cold and wet, falling from the sky. I had counted to three million, all drops of rain on my naked skin.

I was suddenly cold. I stopped counting the rain drops and thought of the sun and moon and counted them. Two suns had passed. The moon was a sharp crescent. There was a new day rising from the east. The thin clouds were celebrating it, they were turning orange, yellow, and some violent thin reds.

I come out from the tuber madness with a new kind of clarity and focus, but I was still hungry. The land was different. There were no longer rolling fields of green, but flat dry plains and dry grasses.

I looked up into the tree that was giving me shade. There was bright red fruit up there, deep blood red, shiny, round, and delicious. I bit out notches in some I wanted to save for later, and tied them into my beard. They weren’t too heavy, but the fruit bounced in my beard and pulled down hard when I ran.

I walked for days, sleeping and resting in the tall grasses. I thought I was alone. I was wrong.

Near the end of my tenth day I came upon the muddy edges of a mighty river. The roaring was soothing and loud. It was a more organic sound than the crystal song, lighter, beautiful. I gave out a quick yell, deep from my gut. I thanked the heavens for that beautiful day.

I walked down the muddy shore, and I found a second pair of bare footprints, like I had made before, behind me. Curiosity burned hungry in my heart. I had never dreamed of another. I had never imagined the potential of otherness, let alone the actuality of it.
I walked for days. The river poured out into a large sea. I rested on short wet sand dunes, getting tan sand in my hair. The foot prints all looked the same. I could tell they were worn.

On the fifth day I followed an instinct. I dug through one of the prints. I quickly hurt my fingertips when I hit stone a centimeter below the surface of the sand. The print was in stone, ancient rock, and there was no one else on the beach with me. I was only left with a memory of things that would never be.

I still followed the frozen footprints the led off into the distance. I became drunk with the distance of it and lost track of time. It appeared to me that seconds passed in the quick change of the length of my shadow. The river turned into the sea and the sea had become thin and shallow, I was still walking on a beach. The sand was glaring and white.

I walked until the sun came up and rested in the shadow of dunes.
There grew plenty of sweet grasses I could chew for fresh water and fill my screaming belly. The hunger in my belly was regulated by the sweet grasses and I regularly eliminated. My walk on the beach became a metronome of shadow and substance.
I played back, for my own amusement, patterns of passing birds, their shapes, their calls, what directions they were facing, and tried to make it coalesce into a formal system of portents and omens. I did not have quite enough information, but I still found the pursuit entertaining. Another moment would pass and my attention would focus to the fading rage of crashing waves.

Along its edges the beach was slowly smothered by water. I could walk out to the inky dividing line between the shallow of the beach and the deep cold sea. I saw dark sinuous motion down there once. I did not go back again.

Every day the sun set on me following stone footprints. I had come to find comfort in resting on the white sand, but the small adventure was over when I came to the tip of the beach and the end of the prints above ground. I could see them disappear into the water. I turned around and tried to return to the river without following the footprints. I became very lost.

The next night, the sky was obscured by clouds. They were gray and angry with cold water. The wind picked up from a breeze to a gale force wind. My ears filled with static and pain. The wind was fast enough that I could not open my eyes. Sand stung my skin. I had no cover. The wind blew me out to the sea.

I woke in the morning, nearly drowning. The waves cursed me, tried to drown me, tried to fill my stomach with salty water. My eyes stung.

I kept afloat on dissolving chunks of soggy wood. I charted the seas of pain on my bleeding cracked skin. Swept out by the hurricane, I starved, blind and senseless.
I washed up on an island of despair. I could see deep dark blue water in all directions. Tall dunes and sick trees dotted the land.

On that barren shore I hunted, killed, and ate my own flesh for nourishment. I had no choice, I could only survive.

At the next dawn, when I had resigned myself to fate, I met an old man that spoke of distant landscapes where game was plenty, herbs grew free, and fruits fell full of sweet nectar from bowing branches.

I was mad with hunger. He gave no fight. I killed him, ate his flesh, used his skin for sails, and fashioned a boat with his bones and tendons. On the sea I did not count the sweltering days, but cursed those hot nights.

I set out again on the seas of pain, distanced from their wet, heaving bosom. I was never secure in buoyancy. My head pounded and ached and bleached in the sun. I hovered near lifeless in starvation. Waterlogged marrow was my only food.

Dark shapes swam below me in depths and pressures that would crush my lungs. If they cared they could have risen up and swallowed my pathetic being whole. The wind carried me past their sunken swimming bulks to dark craggy shores. Six days in I saw birds, crows along the horizon. More days came and went and the shore came closer and closer. I fell asleep to fever dreams of flesh eating fruit eating flesh.
I woke, bleeding, cradled in sharp black rock. My craft was shattered and splintered. My new home rose before me, scraping the pale blue sky. The dark crags described an infinity of edges in stark contrast.

I carefully extricated myself from the rocky shore and made my way to a soft spot on the sandy shore. I collapsed in the bright midday sun, bleeding and covered in sand.
I woke ravenous that night. My head hurt. Every time my heart beat my body ached and pulsed. I saw a trail to my right and stumbled to it. I fell and crawled. I pulled strength from every muscle in my corpse. I made it, over rocks and sharp stones, to a soft spot of grassy earth. I fell unconscious from the effort and slept again.

I woke that morning to a glorious sight. The sun was rising from a darkened sea. The bruised sky gave way to rays of clean sunlight. I breathed in salty sea air. I saw the tree.

The tree was overripe with deep blue fruits. Each was as large as my head and dangled just out of my reach. I located a few good sized rocks and threw them. I missed horribly. I went to the tree’s trunk and shook it something violent.
The leaves whispered and the branches snapped. Fruit fell and I grabbed the closest one. It was broken open and covered in sand. I glanced at it. It was pink and pale on the inside. The core was dense with seed. Juices dripped out and over my hands and fingers. The liquid was overflowing, thin, sweet, and sticky. I ran a slimy finger over my tongue and tasted wonderful nectar.

I drove my face into the fruit and ate, and ate, and ate. I gorged myself on the fruit for some time. My face became a glazed testament to the plentiful glory of life and reproduction.

I was broke from my reverie by a sound muffled in the crashing waves. I listened closer and could discern the crystal’s song. I felt a slow cold shiver run through my body.
I thought, could this be another? Could this be another crystal, like my old coffin?
I fought off fear with curiosity. I advanced down the beach to the sound. It became louder when I rounded the corner.

Before me was a crystal, like my very own. It was set in the shore and half submerged in the advancing tide. I could see a hole with a hand outstretched, grasping in the air, helpless and bleeding. Whoever it was had opened a hole for the approaching sea, but did not have a way to birth themselves to the world. High tide was coming.
I ran, splashing salt water on the shore, making shallow foot prints in the sand.
The crystal came closer, but not fast enough. I sped up and tasted half digested fruit at the back of my throat. My legs pumped, my chest heaved, and I made it in time.
I grasped the outstretched hand. The soft small hands grabbed mine back. Then I tapped the hand and pushed it back in, trying to get it to retreat. It understood after some quick goading.

I took to the crystal coffin and tore it apart. My hands searched out cracks and weaknesses. I had to save this other. I kicked in thin pieces and tore out chunks. There was no question, I had to do it. My flesh forbade me to quit, my soul urged me on, and my mind burned to see.

The water had risen enough to cover most of my new work, but I did not quit. I kept at it, tearing, pulling, grabbing, seeking, lifting, punching, kicking, and fighting that suffocating thing.

A final break, crack, and splinter, water rushed out and the prisoner was free. I could see into the crystal. The prisoner was a she.

She was cold and alone and fighting for air in the darkness. I jumped into the cavity and buoyed her up. I swam with her to the opening. I was fighting for air and my body screamed for rest as I lifted her up and out of the crystal, onto the sand outside.
I lifted myself up and collapsed next to her. I was awake, but unable to move in the pounding surf. We were safe, but covered in wet sand and naked. My eyes stung, but I could not stop looking at her collapsed form in the white foaming surf.
It was she who came to me. I worked to keep my nose above water level and breathe. She pulled me up by my arms and helped my to my knees. She knelt in front of me and brushed sand off my face.

I looked her in the eyes for an eternal moment, forever imprinted in my mind, soul, and flesh. I took her in my arms and we wept, our chests together, hearts beating in rhythm and harmony.

By kleer001 on 2008-06-24 20:32:59
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