WANDERER ABOVE A SEA OF FOG
Before the Captain lay an uncertain sea of choices.
The waves crashed against the rocks. Jagged stone cut the water’s crest as a fin; only a glimpse of the predatory danger below the surface. The stony shoals lay a trap for the unfamiliar, and many a good ship could be found derelict in the deep. The Captain watched in silent deference.
In thick leather boots crusted with salty residue, he stood upon sharp wet boulders as treacherous as the ocean before him. Despite the danger, he stood confidently aboard the coarse vantage point. One leg cocked in front of him, his back straight and composed. The Captain’s left hand rested above his knee, the right stiffly bent; fingers hovering by his saber. His neck was guarded by a pearl white lapel. Armored in his commanding coat, the threads of which were woven together into a tough blue veneer, undaunted by the challenges ahead.
The wind roared with threats of a future storm. It lashed at his ears, whipping them a reddish shade. A stalwart mane of burgundy whiskers adorned his face. Perched above it were two discerning marigold eyes. Bestowed with a natural nobility, he had a resolute chin and firm, weathered cheeks. Attentive as a hawk, the Captain measured the sea with critical regard.
In life, the uncertain sea had been many things. An adversary with which he did battle, combatting on and against furious waters in dire naval battle. The sea was at times tender as a lover, kissing the ship's bow with good spirits and cradling the wood from harm. When he locked himself on land too long, her siren song of adventure would call to him, a seashell echo in his mind. When he returned, the ocean greeted him with the intimacy of an old friend. Other times, as now, the water showed him the cold indifference of stranger; capricious in it’s foreign attitude.
The Captain stood in somber judgement of the sea. To where next would he wander? The volatile waters gave him no answer. A heavy fog had begun it's descent, temporarily blanketing what was ahead of him in a trojan calm. It’s hazy theater showed him the choices of his heart on a wispy gray film.
The first mirage looked to the Captain like home. He saw a wife and children, a pleasant family scene of domesticity. Son and daughter played by the light of a small wooden fire; a hearth that burned with complacency but never too vivid. This was a life of simply joys and trifle worries. Here he could retire into a role of lesser ambitions and homely rewards. The Captain considered. There was a peaceful appeal in comforts, but for its serene boredom. Comfort comes at the cost of enterprise, sacrificing chance for routine.
Dull cobalt mists began to swirl. The specter of another possibility unveiled itself. The Captain lived a life of adventure, hazarding the world for it’s treasures. These golden delights came to his mercenary hand easily, equipped as he was with a newer ship and first-rate sales. The Captain stood on this palatial galleon owing to the investments of a financier; a rich magnate, some merchant moneylender, or perhaps a royal endowment. All the same, he was not admiral of his own destiny. He sailed beneath another man’s money, another king’s ship, another nation’s flag. It was not his decision to where he made port, his fate determined by other minds. The Captain was a wanderer at heart, champion of the Odyssean quest.
Many more visions floated to the surface of the marine fog. Wreckage of a thousand dreams broke upon the billowing slate. Aboard an arctic vessel, companion to the Northern waters; amorist of island girls, paramours whose love reached only as far as the coast; amongst the company of privateers and pirates, sea fellows brave and bold on the sapphire blue; from the azure Atlantic to the periwinkle Pacific; rival of Poseidon himself, sovereign of the sea. Flotsam fantasies manifested in the water, within reach if but only he set sail to them.
Standing proudly, he was but a solitary figure cut from chance’s cloth. The wanderer above the sea of fog pondered his muddled future. Each journey beseeched him, rippling with opportunity. The Captain wished for a cypher, some means to cut through the daze and see clearly all truths. If only he knew all the eventual fates, he could better weigh the prospects and temptations of life.
The uncertain sea ripped upon the breakers, crashing endlessly on the rocky alcove. From this crest, the Captain stood, one foot forward and ready, one leg balanced on stability. The winds of change blew, and the thick fog dissipated weakly. His eyes saw something drifting in the distance. An obscure silhouette, no more clear than else he had imagined. Yet, there it was.
The Captain, pulled himself straight. Uncompromising, undaunted. Vigorous was the odyssey he chose. In truth, there had never been a question.
The Captain was a wanderer, arbiter of his own destiny against uncertain cerulean seas. He would not be deterred; he would not go back. He would raise his sails for unknown lands and foreign tides; he would pursue the uncharted and the dangerous, risk it all for only vague hopes of glory. Master of his own ship, master of his own ambitions. And so the Captain embarked, sailing ever forward.
