Tomorrow, I visit 5 other Watson fellows.  This is what was on my mind when I re-entered the country two months ago, after a year of absence:

Without the sky and without its eyes, without the solicitous peace of the sail, no sound of waves kissing the bow, no cutting wake to watch disappear, without the quiet and without the calm, without the weight of an empty horizon, no birds to watch and ponder how, no chart to plot or knots to count - the return is one small death,  dreams half-sown, watered, and left to the mercy of the sun, to the sea, and any vagrant wanderer who happens to pass.  I'm diving back under to fish for something - something else, something more...


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