Somewhere, on a windswept bluff near a chilly northern harbor town, a young man squints into the chilly greying sunset. Reflexively, he turns his hands into a familiar makeshift telescope. Through one half-closed eye he discovers... something. A bottle? Yes, a glass bottle. Bobbing up and down in the surf.
Every seventh wave brings the bottle nearer the shore. Sliding, step by step down a surprisingly tricky, impromptu, cliff-clinging beach path, at last sneakers meet sand. The bottle rolls in with one final, rapid push.
Hmmm... there's a piece of paper inside the bottle. It appears to be a note of some kind. What does it say?
For now, the note shall remain unread. I smile, because I already know. I, already... know. (You know?)
Without a second thought, my untrained throwing arm sends this nautical courier back into the patient current. Back to sea, back to seek another seeking soul. Back to try once more. Once more. Ever once more.
I smile again, turn my back to the last rays of daylight as I search the golden cliffs for another path toward home.
