My fishy friends are leaving me. The community of dorados that has kept me company for much of this voyage is slowly diminishing. Only one or two ghostly blue shapes occasionally flit beneath my boat, down from about twenty at its peak. Whereas I used to see twenty or thirty fishy backflips each day, I saw only one or two yesterday.
I feel quite bereft. They may not have been the chattiest of companions, but I found their presence quite reassuring, in a strange way. Of course, I knew they would have to peel away eventually as I approached landfall, but I still have many miles to go. They could have stuck around for a bit longer.