I went to see the old man at the docks.

His face was pale. Scratchy whiskers adorned his cheeks. A weathered brow sat above his eyes.

He looked up at me and scowled.

“You should just turn back now.”

The wind howled. The lake churned. Grey clouds coalesced above.

Murky waters foamed beneath my feet. Beneath the dock.

Wind whipped at my hair. I tried to respond, but my voice was carried away, ripped from my body by the violence of the gale.

I can’t turn back. I must go through.

The old man looked at me expectantly. He held out his hand.

“If you insist on being stupid, at least pay me for my troubles.”

His practiced voice cut through the insistent whispers of the wind.

I fumbled with my pockets. I turned them inside out. There was nothing.

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth and shrugged.

I can’t pay you. I’m sorry.

The old man laughed, a rough, shallow sound that soon devolved into a hacking fit.

“Nothing?”

He turned to the lake. The waves sprayed him with icy-cool droplets.

“You have more than you know.”

I gaped at him without understanding. A strong gust blew again and I braced myself.

I was nearly blown over.

A gasp.

A cough.

I fell to one knee, curling in on myself to keep the impending storm out.

The old man opened his arms wide, greeting the lake as his old friend.

The wind ripped at his clothes, yet he stood strong. Another laugh tumbled from his lips.

Waves rose up, ever increasing in size.

Stop standing so close to the edge of the dock. You’ll be swept away.

The old man turned and offered me a sly wink.

A wave crashed over him.

The old man was no longer standing on the edge of the dock.

Nothing left behind.

No money.

No family.

No legacy.

“You have more than you know.“