He, in his generosity and necessity,
Presents us with a universe unknown
To ‘lubbers such as we

Where straight men and not so straight
Confront, because there can be no other way for them,
The Inevitable:
The awesome powers of wind and water
The workings of chance
One’s own angels and demons
Ever-hovering death

They, accumulated from everywhere and nowhere,
Usually pull together, or risk the ultimate loss,
For one usually respects death more than one cherishes hate

And so, the Captain-Master-God of each vessel
Forms his sometimes rebellious crew of disparate souls,
Whose peculiar desires combine to bring stuff from there to here and back

But the transport of other men’s goods is not the goal
The prize is the eternal test:
Of one’s strength
Of one’s resolve
Of one’s skills
Of one’s very manhood

Until the sea,
Or the land for those who tire before an honorable end,
Calls him to its forever embrace

The lake’s surface moves under the winds from the north and east, building troughs for the falling leaves of the Al trees on the water’s edge.

Along the path which circles the lake, people scurry now, rather than stroll as they did just days ago.

The commuter ferry, as it makes its run past my window, seems shuttered, its passengers hiding from the air.

I sit 10 meters above the lake, protected by my room, but I feel winter slither toward me. I shiver.

The ducks seem not to notice.