Across a hot and lifeless sea the Ship continues her journey but the wind that drew her sails is gone and so I sit down under the decks and I grab the heavy wooden oars.
Muscles strain and pop my hands fill with blisters and splinters and sweat beads my forehead, coats my face and back as I pull the oars back to my chest time and again.
When there is no Anchor, a dead Sail, and no active need of a Rudder you just have to row.
