The Lonely Wanderer
There she flies, a Lonely Wanderer, her wings barely gracing the surface of the deep expanse which lies beneath her. She glides over her own reflection; the gentle beckoning of the early morning horizon continues to call her further. Through watery deserts and frothing, tempestuous mountains, she has travelled 7’000 miles in search of food. It has been days, but she knows she must push on. A desperate chick and her lifelong mate eagerly await her return and food has become scarcer in recent years. She remembers a time of plenty, long ago. Where she’d fish on the wing for no more than a day and return to nest with a bounty of squid to show for her effort, but over the years the days have stretched on longer, the seas rougher. Despite this, her wings, as light and delicate as the breeze that keeps her afloat, a feathered cloak of pain and perseverance, continues to bare her weight with ease. She is majesty itself as she catches the updraft from a rogue gust of wind, pushing her skyward so she may glide over her kingdom, dancing with the light that glistens through the gaps in the clouds. Peace. For a moment and an eternity. In all her glorious design, she drifts weightlessly through the air; her shadow falls onto the ocean now far below, tracking behind her as she scans the line that parts sea from sky.
The day continues to wake and stretches on peacefully until the sun is high. Like a painted backdrop she continues to glide blissfully through her world unchanged, until something catches her eye. Appearing on the horizon a dot of red, harsh, and unnatural against the haze of blue and white. Before her eyes can notice its shape, her nose has picked up its scent, overpowering not only her senses but also her wings as she, in her curiosity as well as her desperation, tentatively changes course, soaring ever closer as its grumbling stern drops into view. It is a mighty thing, the rigid edges of its hull cut sharply into the soft curves of its surroundings. So out of place, its bow slices through the gentle waves which heave and lull against its side. A plume of smoke billowing from its engine blackens the trail it leaves behind. She had never seen such a beast, magnificent and terrifying.
Hesitant, she edges closer as the wind begins to pick up, pushing against her wings in a desperate plea to deter her from coming any closer, but the sirens call is too strong and the hopeful smell of fish too bewitching for her tiring body to ignore, she pushes on.
Catching a downdraft, she swoops in ever closer, now hovering only a few meters above the body of this foreign creature. Overpowering the gentle hush of the breeze and the familiar lapping of the waves is now a symphony of engine groans and aimless chatter and commotion from the men onboard. Fresh blood, glistening scales, and miles of what looks like white thread litters the deck. She takes it all in as her shadow dwarfs the chaos below, so fearful yet with intense purpose she zeros in on what caught her attention all those miles away. A long line of rotting Sardines, attached to this mysterious white thread now slowly being unravelled on deck and fed continuously into the sea, then disappearing beneath the frothing white that churns and trails behind this monster as it grumbles on. For fear of losing her prize too far beneath the waves she must dive now if she’s to be successful. Scavenging a few Sardines from this strange machine is a pitiful catch for this magnific hunter, but it is again desperation, not for herself but for her chick, that prepares her for what’s next.
She folds and flaps her great wings, gaining speed and momentum in the air as she heaves upwards slightly towards the cloud line. Peace. Just for a second, seemingly reaching her pinnacle in the sky. Taking her seat amongst the gods, her wingtips touch the heavens as the last ray of sunlight clutches to her feathers, almost imploring her to stay before retreating in futility behind a darkening cloud; she begins her shallow dive. In one quick motion she angles her body downwards, tucking her wings tight against her sides, and like an arrowhead cutting through smoke, she penetrates the air, every fibre of her being poised, every feather positioned with absolute purpose as she plunges back down to reality and pierces the surface of the water; faster than a single drop of rain can fall from the weeping cloud above.
Once under and without effort she catches the limp, tethered Sardine in her beak. Now ready to surface for need of breath her wings push upward against the current, and again, and again, but to no avail. She becomes frantic in her attempts to breach the surface just two meters above her head; but now she finds herself being pulled down, down, further into the depths below. Panic sets in, her muscles fight, contorting as she struggles desperately against the cruel twisted hook lodged in her throat, but her efforts are in vain. Deeper. She dwindles like a faint candle in the dark as her once glorious wings begin to fall silent at her sides, her black, limpid eyes ever so gently lose their soul. The sea aches and wails at this tragedy as it reluctantly claims her last breath.
The Lonely Wanderer. As old and precious as life itself, passes on. Not alone as it seems but surrounded by her brothers and sisters, side by side in the dark. Leaving behind a chick without a mother, and a cold, empty sky without its Queen.
Written by Flo Brown
