I didn't realise just how soundly I would sleep, or how gently the breeze would waft into my cabin all night; how poetically the sheer white curtains would flutter; how slowly the scenery would change. It feels restful, calming and restoring - not what I expected today, and especially not on a cruise ship.
I know that many of my travel memories eventually boil down to just a few moments: my sister jumping into the waves on a beach in Mauritius during golden hour; my mother and I sharing a pint of Guinness at The Devonshire in Soho; my niece running through a glorious field of red tulips near Amsterdam...
Perhaps all we can hope for is the accumulation of these scattered moments over the years; the ability to distil them and store them in a happy compartment in our minds, and to replay them on demand.
I know time will help heal but, for now, I am grateful for the sounds of the seagulls over the ocean, the birds with wings outstretched, the sun on their backs, flying gracefully and intuitively, as if they know something we don't about the heavens.
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