From the moment of the decision I walked the earth in a delirium of expectation.

That February, I remember, was blue and mild, with soft airs blowing up the river.

Down by the Broomielaw I found a new rapture in the smell of tar and cordage, and the queer foreign scents in my uncle's warehouse.

Every skipper and greasy sailor became for me a figure of romance.

I scanned every outland face, wondering if I should meet it again in the New World.