99 beautiful moments: a study

From distant voygages we return to our moorings, the apocolypse dance of the lighthouse behind us. Salt encrusted and sun drenched, our bodies sinewed by sea shores so distant we forgot the language for home. And for the last time we drop anchor. And it rests on the bones of our ancestors. And we remember the celestial beauty lost on functionality. Our hearts no longer seek guidence from the heavens. We are lost no more.