I'd been out of sorts all day. I had just hit send on an unhappy email to a friend about my struggles with homesickness, my complaints about the coffee and my frustration with the availability of so few quiet spots on the ship.
As I made my way up to Deck 7 to read, I was berating myself about how I should be excited and happy, wondering what might possibly be wrong with me that I could be on this ship traveling the Mediterranean, about to set foot in a country I've always wanted to visit and still find a reason to be gloomy. My eyes caught the light of the sky outside and I decided to step onto the outer deck to see if I might be in time to catch the sunset.
In that moment it ceased to matter what sort of day I had, what ocean I was on or where the ship was going. Before me were to two immense expanses of contrasting blue and a brilliant ball of fire hovering just above the horizon; its orange fire reflecting on neither sky nor sea. As I stood watching it sink beyond the horizon a single dolphin broke the water, one, two, three, four (?) times and disappeared.
I laughed. It might have been more of a giggle.
In what world outside of Hollywood do moments like that happen?
Mine it seems…
(PS - thank you to all for the comments left on previous posts. I'm unable to approve them until I have regular internet access again, which should be on Saturday. Thank you!)