N.50º25’47” W.0º47’25”
There is a small bird that flies around the ship – dusty coloured like a sparrow or warbler. An accidental stowaway – something fragile from the land. We are now in the ocean but it is still flitting between the oily cables and railings. Somehow it seems to know that it must stay with the ship. It’s a calm day and at the moment, when it flies from perch to perch, it is still faster than the air. What will happen when the weather changes?
I imagine the bird blown by the gales – flying further and further over the surf looking for the metal island in vain.