The vessel was old decrepit, had seen too many storms, weathered too many years, carried too much cargo. He looked at it in the mirror, the unsightly bulge at the waist, the seams around the eyes, the thinning hair. This was no longer the trim, powerful craft he’d set out with. Refurbishing had turned into “tied up in port” rust and decay had set in. Yet the ocean called…
He smelt the sea breeze of adventure and longed to follow. Not for him home comforts, he loved to follow the wind, to listen to the cry of the birds as they flew free as the breeze.
“Tie up in port and die,” the voice in his head told him. “You are defeated old man!” But something inside resisted, something strove with the voice, something akin to a sea bird (or perhaps a dove).
“It ain’t over till it’s over!” he spat defiantly into the mirror. “I shall set sail again!”
He began at once offloading old cargo, purchasing new sails in the form of several bright Hawaiian shirts, he stocked up on food (healthy stuff) then he set sail. He sailed across the path of a foreign vessel, hailed it with a hearty greeting, offered help in piloting (it seemed the woman at the helm may have lost her bearings). Coming alongside he boarded the vessel assisting in repairs.
I’ve not seen either vessel for a long while since they sailed off into the sunset together.