I leaned on the rail, stared through my mental zoom and wondered. Were ther footprints in the sand of that island to the windward?
No sign of man. Startled cliff caves gaped at us, seagulls dived at us, while whales schooled us and led us away. We passed by and the North Channel sighed.
Now it's just a floater in my eye, a landscape's distant daub of grey-green, a mystery mote that still returns, but I pass by praising Gaia.