The Ocean is dead

IT was the silence that made this voyage different from all of those before it.  Not the absence of sound, exactly.  The wind still whipped the sails and whistled in the rigging. The waves still sloshed against the fibreglass hull.  And there were plenty of other noises: muffled thuds and bumps and scrapes as the boat knocked against pieces of debris.  What was missing was the cries of the seabirds which, on all previous similar voyages, had surrounded the boat.

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