In deep grief

We suffered and tortured ourselves. The sun burned hot in Galicia. Sweat ran down our t-shirts. Decisions had to be made. What should we do? What could we sacrifice, what could we do without.

Can we dare to do the unspeakable? Is the risk accepted? Can we accept the drastic change in our lives without complaining? Is the decision correct? Is the timing right? Humidity? The wind force and the tide? Should it really be that far now? What are the alternatives?

A sailor's life is full of decisions that cannot be changed afterwards, for which correction is no longer possible. Once the ship is lying on the rocks, any rescue is often too late. How nice it would have been if you hadn't steered the course up the rock beforehand. Do we steer Sissi into the reef this way? Will we soon be on the ground? Do the sails tear us apart? Do the food spoil? Will we soon have a fishing net in the screw? All of these questions need to be considered. This is the only way we can avoid driving on the rocks.

And so it is now. The decisions were made. The consequences are visible. We have gained an experience.

We have witnessed an event that has not yet taken place in this form in this millennium. We do not want to unduly exaggerate this event, but no other words can be considered here. It was a big event.

We are sad. We have lost it. They're gone.

We have to get used to it. But a light shines on the horizon. It gets lighter every day. It will glow unfiltered on the day when I no longer pull the braid out from under the camera strap.

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