I am a Harbor Moss-covered barnacles govern my legs, and my back is drenched in fog.
My wooden walkways creak, and the wind makes me groan with loneliness; but life stirs underneath, in waves.
Ships arrive at the worst hour, full of regrets and suspicions, and aches and envies, and troubles and fears.
I welcome angry sailors, the worst of all mankind, to drink at my tavern, and dangle their feet off my docks, and stare at the sea.
They look east by southeast, north by northwest, to home, where only memories return.
Some men are bustling airports; they welcome millions a day, and millions a night, see them off to other skies and do it over again.
But I am a jealous Harbor. I keep my vessels with me forever. I guard them with an icy peace. And relish in the slap of the sea. And bathe in the salt of the wind.