Everybody made fun of him. Laughing at the cobble job patches that held him together. They made bets about whether he'd last another winter.

Sure he was old and weathered. Yes his cribs were arthritic and he leaned and sagged in places. Some of his nails were working themselves loose. Still, he was sturdy enough, not rickety like some he'd seen float by this spring. He'd withstood the river's anger when the north wind pushed her the wrong way, and bathed in her calm at the end of the day.

There was one fellow that liked him though, and thought him handsome in his waning years. The man appreciated the storms he'd weathered, and understood the pressure the frozen river exerted on him every winter. The man seemed to enjoy strolling his length out into the breathtaking beauty to reflect and stare, pensive.

This man has been a regular visitor these last five seasons and the two of them had formed a bond. The man thinks himself old but to the dock he's a young man in his prime. He seeks the dock's wisdom of many seasons and the weathered old dock gives up his secrets slowly, in bits and pieces when the man comes to the river edge. " Take life one wave at a time," says the dock. Sometimes the man listens. At least he acts like he heard. Other times he seems too preoccupied to listen.

On these restful summer nights the old dock is content to watch old Sol's descent, and teach the man patience; their friendship unspoken but ever present.