I always searched for bottles on the shore.  A message in a bottle!  Nothing more and nothing less I’d take.  I had the notion I’d receive a greeting from the ocean – not the slap of waves upon the sand, but some memento of a promised land.  Not promised, really, that’s too much to claim.  But possible, at least.  Today it came… one bottle, TWO notes!  Not what I had thought.  No, it was much more than I’d ever sought.  I had to read it twice.  It was no hoax.  Things like that are never merely jokes, on that I’d stake my life.  I have.  You’ll see that when you read their notes, plus one from me.

 

“So few are left who care for open spaces, fewer still for high and windy places unhedged with yielding things, who dream of mountains, not of meadows.  People seem to care for plains, not peaks.  They have no head for heights, so they prefer to live instead among the herd and never know their worth when ranged with giants (for here they walk the earth still), no.  And sometimes I am sorry, for there are no others come to this world, nor, I fear, will any ever come.  But let what will be, be.  If any come, well met!  So here’s a hasty map.  Though vague, it may suffice.  Just follow the western stars.  The way is there.  I’ll keep a double hope, not only for myself -- for comfort in those lonely nights when even stars are dark – for you, for any questing spirit, for the few souls who might share a hope without a name, and need the words to keep it bright.  I claim my kinship with you, send to you my greeting and salute!  Perhaps our only meeting, this.  And yet I hope this bottled letter, conch-like, brings the echo of a better world.  Remember the western stars.  Their light is all you’ll need for beacon in the night.”

 

“Whoever, wherever you are, who’s found this note, I haven’t much to add to what he wrote.  Or is it she?  No matter, I suppose, except I’d love someone to love.  God knows there isn’t much in our gray world to miss…I’m off.  To what was said, I’ll just add this, that once one’s soul has heard that far-off call from greater lands, from kindred souls, it’s all one ever needs, that hope without a name.  And I’ve no doubt that I shall find the same world he or she found, no doubt in the world.  The map I shouldn’t need.  I’ll leave it, curled up with the note, for you in case -- as I have, gone with no regrets -- you want to try the journey too.  I won’t be back.  Please tell the others.  Here’s the map.  Good luck.  Fare well.”

 

I’ve left the map, for where they are now, God alone knows.  Pass the word.  It might seem odd but, well, I’m off myself.  The chances are, for good.  Goodbye.  Just follow the western stars, and take that nameless hope, and no regrets.  We’ll walk with giants before the last sun sets.