The rope has been cut.
Without great fanfare, the boat drifts from the pier. No outboard motor. No sail. Just the pull of the currents, the eddying water.
No one there to wave the boat off. No one to journey through. Just the boat and its occupants. So much left behind in this wager, a wager which might prove faith and might prove foolishness. Only time will tell.
And, as yet, it cannot.
It starts quietly, this journey of a thousand days. No attempt to control the boat’s direction. No glimpse of the stars by which to navigate. The night dark. The waters and the wind the only source of movement. Yet, in waters and wind, his grace.
Futile these longings for port. Safe harbour is only ahead. What is behind can only now be what was. For the call has come. A call to the open sea, to leave the shore.
And now the rope has been cut.