The Old Man and the Sea

At times the bounty seems neverending as if lavish munificence resonates incarnate, while at others it all dries up and leaves you prone to grievous frustration. 

The dialectics of oceanic endeavours inevitably provoke chaotic equilibrium, the wild tumultuous overcast bearing as furtively belittling as it is advantageous.

What would it be like to make a living aboard a sturdy seafaring vessel, as the weather habitually transforms form one mighty distillation to the next?

The process of change invigoratingly clear as one boldly navigates infinite waters, tried and true dependable depths give way to currents ne'er indefatigable. 

Animate conjecture indubitably delineates creative indisposed spry spectrums, endemic mystics imaginatively endowed with fervid spirits indelicately alighting.

But to actually head out and search when nothing was truly known or proven, before taxonomies within classifications ubiquitously catalogued geographic universals.

I imagine there were whales everywhere frequently emerging to breathe in jest, a trip across the bustling Atlantic producing perhaps as many as 200 sightings.

Not to mention what must have seemed like indeterminate frisky billions, casually adorning limitless shores with unconcernéd and innocent dalliance. 

The Old Man and the Sea picks up some years later and follows a humble fisherperson, who calmly goes with the ebb and flow to earn some bread and lighthearted meals.

He has a chill modest pad unassumingly situated off the beaten track, and a boat and the requisite skill to coast the ocean in search of booty.

But he's been rather unlucky as of late and hasn't managed to catch a thing, his perseverance remaining strong through the potentially enervating drastic drought.

Nature however in its eminence has saved him a colossal agile catch. He just has to haul it in.

After finding himself lost at sea.

Not to take away from its legend, the story was widely popular in my youth, but the film and narrative seemed outdated to me, it's hatred of sharks much too overbearing.

Sharks indeed frighten many but it's certainly rare that they take a human life, in fact for every human life a bloodthirsty shark takes we probably kill around 10 million (ball parkin' based upon stats I've seen on TV of around 250 million sharks being killed a year).

I can't imagine a shark fin making anything taste good.

Sharks maintain the ocean's delicate ecobalance.

And they're being treated with sincere disrespect. 

Thus, I appreciated the tale for it encouraged romantic wonder, but I could never kill so many sharks if they tried to eat my catch.

I'd probably just give my catch to the sharks and would be happy for making them happy.

Sigh. Couldn't cut it as a fisherperson methinks. 

Although I would absolutely love working at sea.