To be at sea. Tiny Spaces Deep Connections, Day 3

 At sea - Civitavecchia

The hour of the wolf. I wake up in the middle of the night, slightly sad I missed out on the evening entertainment, if there was any. There is a casino but I am not sure if it opened. Surely at least one of the bars stayed open, and there might still be people up and about, especially the ones who have a sleeping chair instead of a cabin. I feel privileged, sharing my ferry room with a bubbling jar only. The round window is big enough to sit in and I spend some time there, staring out over the moonlit water. It is almost painfully beautiful. It isn’t silent, I guess it is never really silent on a boat, with its machines pumping to get us all across, but I feel silent. The starter is always silent, although when it is peaking and bubbly, it defenitely makes sounds. 
In the morning I explore and get lost a few times. There is a spa on board with a sauna and a jacuzzi with a view and an open air swimming pool on the top deck. I install myself in the large room with the stage, now empty. People are drinking coffee or watching the tv in the corner. A curious little boy comes up to me, wondering what I am doing and I explain that there is something alive in the jar that you can use to make bread. He looks at it in wonder and I am not sure if he understands or how he has translated this information but he seems to have realised something and when his mother comes to see if he is bothering me, he explains to her what is in the jar. “It is alive!” he says, “and it makes bread!” She laughs and tells him: “Yes, that is how your grandmother always makes bread, didn’t you know?’ He shakes his head, but I think that next time when he visits his grandmother he will remember.
At some point, when we are are still hours away from dry land, a little bird lands and flutters around in the outside bar. It doesn’t look like it belongs here, it is either a stowaway or it got caught in a strong wind and was blown in the wrong direction. Or maybe not, maybe it is a travelling bird. 
All outdoor surfaces are slowly being covered in a thin layer of sea salt. It foms oval shapes on the decks and when you slide your hand over the railing, it is covered in salt. I start collecting it from areas that aren’t in contact with any polluting agents, thinking it might be nice to use it when baking bread later. 
It feels like a desperate act to throw seedballs overboard here, how long will it take for them to reach a shore? And if they do, will the seeds survive the salty water? I give it a go anyway, but only when land is in sight. Italy, Civitaveccia.