We call him Mr. Lucky, and with good reason, for the odds are stacked astronomically against him. Each hatchling that bursts from the sand has less than a one percent chance of reaching maturity. A thousand eggs are laid so that one will survive. Yet each hatchling bursts forth as if it is the chosen one. There is always a chance.
The miracle doesn’t end at the water’s edge. Plunging into the surf, the hatchling, no bigger than a child’s hand, remains undaunted: having never seen the ocean before, the turtle swims an unerring course, first through crashing surf and then across the seas themselves, more blank and featureless than anything terra firma can conjure. They swim, for the most part, alone. Each is captain of its own fate.
Still they swim on, a dogged journey of survival and, no doubt, luck.