It’s true you know, the sea calls each wandering albatross home in the end. They do not fly forever, sometimes they have to make landfall and other times they land in the sea and rest. It is when they rest on the sea that the sea swallows them, lures them to duck their heads under the water with the gentle lapping of the waves and its promises of a fishy feast. The albatross accept this as a part of their fate. They are wise birds you know, elegant flyers, efficient users of the warm air currents.
I dreamt that I turned into an albatross once, that I took off from this scraggly patch of rock and fly out towards the sea. I flew high, rarely beating my majestic wings. I spied sailors from on high and followed in their slipstream. They waved to me in turn and acknowledged my presence as a good sign. They were often lonely in the southern sea, their sails furled out hoping to catch a push home. In was in this way that I dreamt for many years.
Of course I cannot do that today. Our attention is forever focused by other things. The incessant beep of recognition from the outside world that clambers for our time and effort drains us of ourselves. How I yearn to fly as an albatross again. I will, no doubt, take my final rest in my later years, which are soon to become my present years. Again I have no doubt that I shall spread my wings once more and scale the dizzy heights above the southern sea, that I will join my leviathan brethren and explore the ocean anew. Remember though that the sea can swallow even us.