Ahoy ship mates! Time to clean our vessels by casting off the old and refurbishing with new. All hands on deck for a relay by the Sailmaker, “Sally Ship to all salty dogs!” Our crew heavily puts their best efforts and energy to the rocking of the boat. After much slipping of feet from sweaty wood, the boat’s running gears free from the grips of a muddy shore. We push off and creep away from the bank. Rising moon intercepts the a descending sun saying its good day. Murky muck dilutes as we ascend farther into the sea. Our silent sail on smooth glassy water is like soft wine slipping us into slumber. Subservient to moonlight, the tide changes her mind. In a sudden, we face unpredictable probabilities. Active commotion is prevalent as sailors batten down the hatches and take their battle position. On the main deck stands a Coal Trimmer with sooty, snarled hair. Black-stained nail-beds grasp an iron shovel and like cane, use it to plant her footing is firm. Unseen by her enemies, she’s protected by the ship’s belt of armor. Intuitively she knows her training courses down in the bunker provide her now with an opportune of qualities. The Coal Trimmer improvises a made-up lyrical tune and hopes the dust in her lungs doesn’t gain control. “A compass of azimuth, I hold in my hands. Finding a beacon will lead us to dry lands. We fight against wind to remain steady, and put our trust in Old Faithful Leddy. ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet’. But ‘a fly in the ointment’ spoils the milk inside the whole teat.” A light on top the hill welcomes the crew to a wooden pier to dock our wobbly knees. The Lightkeeper’s orchard of peach trees give a heavenly hello. Moon light highlights an engraving in the wobbly railing of some stairs, “For a good tree bringeth not forth corrupt fruit; neither doth a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit.” Onward we heed!