The oceans of the year.

There is an old mooring post in the ocean.

It’s made of wood and once was brightly painted, but time and the salty waves have rendered the paint to little more than a glow.

One boat has used this post for many years, holding tight whilst storms have battered both of them, gently touching on days of calm.

Now the post looks weary from the effort, its side is split and the edges are splintered.

And the boat comes here no more.