She had been there from before my birth. Looking at her, I marveled at what was more than grandeur, more than heights, more than the sheer tonnage of this once mighty ship. The ship that had brought us so far now preserved in sand; at rest, in rust and rot, but beautiful.
The old man told stories of voyages and how our tribe would ride to distant lands, make war, and move again. With only little imagination I could see these battles, the journeys, when she was mighty and mobile–our great ship.
A day came and I asked, “Why she had ceased to sail? Had she come too far?” But no; not far enough; for at one time this passage was deep and the channel free. But somewhere the rains up river stopped and when she did not move, upon the mud her bottom settled. And thus we came to be, he said to me. Planting fields, we found ourselves in this eastern valley awaiting the rains, the rains, which never came. And we what were fighter become farmers and such a city we built to honor our great man-of-war, we'll never forget and always at shore.
I loved that old ship and it was her silence that inspired my grief, when as boys we would play upon her gang pretending we were our forefathers's warriors ready to move, but our's were games, only games, reliving other battles; with sticks for guns. But, I was different, I hoped the rains would come. I hoped she would rise and take us from our prized valley, that we would learn again of adventure by what we do and scares would mark our stories. Our stories lived, not told by other older men. Games we played, but my heart was for the fight. Were there still dragons, could there still be giants?
I examined her and my heart sank to see her broken hull and the flooded galley. She will never sail the sea and I would be left behind passed over by my own dreams. “Oh, hope do not abandon me. Could we set out just you and me again warriors to be? My hope did not disappoint and together we convinced patience to come with us. So, we moved to make war and thus we cut a tree. In weeks my soft hands turned to blood before the calluses came. That is when endurance joined and the work became light when we could work day and night. To the city our efforts were games and soon, they said, we would see the folly in leavening and remain, like every other.
Though this boy with others three crafted a boat and readied to leave. No one thought we could go anywhere upon a tree but our birth was sure and with little draft we flew passed the old ship. My friends stood confused upon the gang. And patience waved to these small boys. Then in the bend of our narrow river stood the old man, not far from our canoe. He cried, “What is this that you do? My son, my son, do not go. Do you think that you are greater than the ship you leave behind?" Before we were around the bend his voice rose to a scream. "My son do not go, there be giants!"
At this I dug my paddle deep into the foam and smiled and I responded in a quite voice, “Yes, for this I go.”
If not for endurance I would have been lost. And patience kept me moving forward. When I lost my grip hope was still holding on to me. Then a day came when another joined. We found him starving upon the shore. I thought him a sailor lost, but to my surprise he had been waiting for me. His face pale and his voice like gravel. “I will make you to travel as one man if you are willing to pick me up for I was left behind for you and to the sea your tree I’ll bring.” Then he held out a wounded hand and said, “You can call me suffering." So, we four become five and as one man into the river again we flew our craft sturdy our mission true.
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