Diary of a Deckhand

The ferry seeming impossibly slow makes her way through the silent night. We pass the private galaxies of light indicating oil platforms out to the east. They somehow remind me of those deep sea jellyfish which glow when they sense water movement.
Approaching Orkney i go to the rear deck of the Hrossey and watch the blinking lights of the lighthouses, white and red. So soon we are back in Kirkwall and alongside at the pier, the journey seemed so long, and then so short. Arriving back onto the farm so late and still feeling the effects of the virus i am so utterly drained. How does sitting on your bum for more or less 13 hours make you so tired?

Flopping onto the sofa the welcoming silence of sleep soon takes me.