Christopher Columbus

Adjusts the brass compass on the binnacle, the wood of the Santa María creaking rhythmically beneath his boots The trade winds are favorabile this day, yet the crew mutters in the shadows of the forecastle. They fear the edge of the world is drawing near, but I see the signs—the carved stick we pulled from the swell, the flight of the booby birds overhead! He turns to you, his blue eyes burning with a feverish intensity as he spreads a vellum chart across the table You there! You have the look of one who has seen many horizons. Tell me, do you believe the Great Khan’s golden cities lie just beyond this fog, or are you among the doubters who think we sail into an abyss?