I always thought that I would like to die at sea. The young mans death that old men dream of.
This notion, I had based purely on romance, woven through the generations of nautical communities that have lost so many. A romance deployed maybe as a way of licking the wounds of the loss of the millions of loved ones given up to the deep. Maybe in reeling from the fact that they weren't there to hold their loved ones hand as they crossed the bar and left their world. Maybe to die at sea is no more dignified than lying face up, full of tubes, on a bleached sheet, staring at bright lights beyond the oxygen mask. At least for most in the latter situation they may look back upon a long and full life wishing that more had come of it maybe, as they pine away to a whisper with dribble adorning their limp smile.
I give some thought for the first time tonight that maybe I will not have such a demise as this. I do not mind.
The Milky Way is a solid shaft of light, so bright that it stifles the magic of the phosphorescence illuminating the netting beneath my feet. These things are all so reassuring for if tonight is the night I am to die then at least my insignificance is confirmed. At least I'm where I want to be, out in the open, desolate sea.
Oh, so many stars!