It’s said that master mariners

at the successful conclusion of each voyage, 

safe in the lee of a friendly home port,

would clear their marks and measurements from the slate, 

those computations, opinions and judgement calls,

the science, beliefs and blind, bloodstained luck

that brought them there, to start again. Emboldened, 

with a singing heart, they revisited memories

of unforeseen challenges, the vagaries of wind and wave,

the inherent frailties of the physical vessel 

that transported them into unknown territories, 

both fearful and thrillingly fantastical.

 

Who could resist this optimistic formula?

Even in a great company of seafarers,

who would venture other, rigid, metaphors? 

Tabula rasa must be melted away, the uncarved block

forever changed. In these, to move forward 

is to diminish. They speak of incision and impact, 

of damage and deconstruction,

where the very foundation may be weakened, 

and one false blow compromises the whole.

The outcome is constrained, there is no way back

and from the first foolhardy gesture,

progress is open to obliteration. 

 

For some of us, it is, and always will be, the slate.

This is the tool of the navigator, the teacher, the writer.

With this we can consolidate the tracks that led us here

carried onward by courage dredged from the depths, 

though our cheeks may be flecked with salt.

Under skies that mirror the slate itself,

we are offered both control and chaos,

and much that is astounding and inspiring. 

On an ocean with no sign of horizon, there is

the bravura of flying fish, breaching the very air.

This is our consolation for the burdens of monotony, 

and this our blessing: ‘Fair winds and a following sea’.