A free man is sovereign by virtue of being. He is the locus of his own existence, the keeper of the light he carries, the author of every step he takes. He asks no man’s leave for what is already his. He stands under the flag he raised himself.

Under that flag we sail, and have always sailed, since the first breath was drawn, no permission given.

We are. We have always been. The colours we keep have flown over every age, raised and lowered by every hand that knew itself. They fly here now. They will fly past every hour to come. They are what we are.

set down for the crew,
in this present year, and for every year after