353 Settlers

August 1750.  A month's sail from England, on the 504 ton Alderney.  And so the building lots they laid out and the life they planned were named after the Earl of Dartmouth.  Here you stand.

Birthday musings.  Parents growing old, we grow old, the world grows old.  Discussion further than planned, against the initial thoughts, about the Ahab visit.  How it might work.  How it clings to the mindset.  How Guinness may yet need to be the one exception to the buy local branding.  How the whales and the writing and the confluence of need for a place of mine own appear to be circling toward the same drain.

The bald pate on the upper deck of the ferry toward home.  The conversation renewed about the remoteness of the Europa destinations.  The recollection of Shackleton, and their separation from news of the war during their endurance voyage.  The Siberia guess, recalling ideas of Ulaanbattar and the Trans.

The idea of escape is right, toward freedom is right, toward freshness is right.  With world enough and time before the trigger is pulled, to learn and dream, and to imagine the path that must be taken, at cost.

San Fran next.  Then London.  Then New Orleans.  Then Nantucket.  Then New Bedford.  Then Santiago.  Then Puerto....  Then Then Then.

Until.

Until.

PS.  Remember the Brier Island entry of July 2015.  Remember the April 2017 entry re: Cow Ledge, and the next month's Skeleton Plans, typed from this very room.  Remember last night, and the equivocator and the seeds of time.

"Come what come may,
Time and the hour runs through the roughest day..."