An indentation...
As worn into the oak as the rings in its base.
Too many years this malady escaped notification.

The willows lay somber.
Doing what their name described.
Weeping...

A solitary man.
Void of all his pastime grandeur.
Struggles to put one foot in front of the other,
As if he was fighting destiny.

“I’m done...”
That’s all he said.
Disappearing in the shadows.

Rope laden shoulders,
Carrying the mast of the world on his shoulders.
In exchange for a ship...

Night fell then.
Much like the weight of the anchor,
That was tossed over that single branch.
Sliding into the grove...

“Parlay!” cried the willows.
The nerves relaxed and died away.
The salt, dried up, running through his veins.

A form turning.
North...
South...
East...
West...
Swaying like an arrow of a compass in the breeze.

Pirates...ye be warned.