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He stands,
his left leg resting upon a powder keg,
slightly bent,
with arms resting upon his knee.
Hands, callused, hard as nails
cross wrists thick as wheel spokes,
his left hand is open,
extended,
his right holds the stem of his beloved pipe.
He is an educated man,
educated without the benefit of schooling,
educated by the trials and tribulations of life;
in his world, none are more versed than he .
Men gather around him seeking his council,
some sitting on the wooden deck,
others resting,
their back against a rail
to balance against gently rocking waves.
All have thick beards,
most untrimmed,
framing faces hardened by
years of wind, sun, and sea.
Pipes,
filled with tobaccos of various aroma,
provide a covering cloud
to quell the stench of their lives;
men living upon the water,
regressed to seldom experiencing
its cleansing properties.
They are a rough lot,
fearing none,
yet,
disciplined beyond expectation;
their bonds forged by a brotherhood
spanning centuries of adventure,
hardship, and war.
He clears his throat,
begins to speak with fervor,
his voice,
softened by the snap of sails
buffeted by the wind,
cause all lean toward him to miss nary a word.
He is the master,
the unquestioned purveyor of knowledge.
He gives to each his words of wisdom,
training each in the ways of his chosen life;
this is the world of show and tell,
this is the way of men whose lives
are lived upon the sea.
Each owes a debt of gratitude
to this man who rests his leg
upon the powder keg.
This keg chosen not for comfort,
rather,
a symbol of the strength
and power conveying experience
through education.
One lone sailor looks forward to each
of these gatherings,
listening intently,
shifts his weight against the rail
and dreams of the day
he rests his leg upon
the powder keg. |
