The Powder Keg

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 freely; 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.