A spider drops down from the rafters above my bunk. It is tiny and brown and spinning a web. I am so big to it, so massive that it does not notice I exist until I move. It freezes mid-air.
Does it know what I am?
Does it know it’s on a ship? Does it matter?
It is a small spider spinning from a thread on a big boat, but the boat is only big to the spider. The boat is cramped to me and tiny to the ocean. The ocean is small to the world and the world itself is not all that big. It is a tiny thing, spinning through space and time.
I am travelling from England to New York and I will spin myself a new life there. The spider will do the same, but it will never know.