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Once more unto the breach, we’ve set sail and begun our second passage onwards to Spain and the Eternal City. By now, I’m sure you’ve all been well acquainted with the nature of passage: the rotation of watch teams, seamanship and leadership classes, the variety of jobs onboard, and the occasional spectacle of nature the sea designs to offer. Though I must admit, there’s one thing I have yet to hear from any of my fellow shipmates regarding the peculiarity of life on passage. All our lives have been spent, it seems, within the sheltered confines of a tragically superficial world–one which often binds our focus to the petty and inconsequential. It’s become a commonality in the mindset of today’s youth; in our homes, our schools, and unfortunately, this boat. But I’ve found the sea is different; on the sea there is forgiveness, you are new, and you are whole–forever, and indefinitely. The sea is loud too, and if you listen closely, she coos in cool strokes the story of life in a perfect world. “What does a perfect world look like to you?” She asked me today. I didn’t know what to say at first. Such a world is difficult to imagine, but not to the sea. And so she told me a story, with which I leave you now:

There once was a little yellow canary who lived in a dense wood. She’d spend her days singing about all she could see, and all the trees of the forest loved her. But one day, she ventured out and came upon a large black boar, pacing through the thick underbrush. The boar paid no attention to the little bird, and it snorted with rage as it trampled all in its path. Every shrub, flower, and tree feared its blind anger, and every animal in the wood would flee from the stench of its rotten tusks. Eventually, the natural law of the forest began to change as the boar raged on with indifference and disdain. The canary, however, saw all of this and more. Unlike the creatures below, she saw from above the sleek wooden arrow deep in the boar’s hide and became certain that with will and strength, the boar would fall. But the struggle grew worse as the boar neared the very heart of the forest and the ancient oak, whose roots fed and nurtured every tree in sight. The boar, seething with anger, poised itself to uproot the oak from the forest. The canary saw this too and realized that time was running out–to ensure the survival of the forest she loved. The boar must die.
This is, in essence, the sea said, the perfect world: when the canary slays the vile boar.

As our passage begins, I wish everyone at home a safe week.
The most dramatic boy onboard

Photo #1: Last view of Horta, leaving the Azores
Photo #2: Last view of Pico