A Quiet Monday

The Arabian Sea remained calm today and the ship made its steady way east. Nothing in the view seemed anxious to change. Water, sky and the long ranks of containers all appeared content with their arrangements, which left me as the only visible party who felt obliged to devise an activity and give it a measurable outcome.

I walked four miles around the container stacks. Eight laps provided plenty of opportunity to become familiar with the same corners, the same patches of shade and the same warm breath of air between the steel walls. Walking at sea has the useful quality of allowing considerable effort without the slightest risk of arriving somewhere inconvenient.

Container accompanied me for the first lap. Having established that the route contained no surprises worth her attention, she waited in the shade for the other seven. Each time I passed, she looked entirely comfortable with the division of labour. I was accumulating distance. She was conserving herself. It was difficult to say which of us had understood the day more accurately.

There was no incident, no announcement and no drama. The engines continued beneath everything, a steady physical reassurance rather than a sound I consciously followed. By the end of the walk I had achieved four miles and a modest quantity of perspiration. The day had achieved nothing that would make a convincing headline. I am learning that a quiet day is not an empty one, even when my principal contribution is repeatedly passing a cat.