“Nail the bones of a Norse pirate's ship to the wall of your house!” The old craftsmen chiseled out the compass with a blunt edge, the scale embedded with unsmoothed wooden spikes, like the sea salt crystals in the palm lines of the Viking captains; the anchor's claws and teeth have gnawed through thousands of waves, the ropes are so deep as to be able to catch the sea breeze, and even the waterborne paint seeps with the wild fishy smell of pine tar -- this is not a wall decoration, it is a seafaring totem gouged out from the cracks of history!
The compass needle always points to the north, which is the direction of the Viking's eyes, where the stars fall into the sea; the moment the anchor barbs into the wall, the whole wall becomes the prow of a breaking wave. As you stare at the varying shades of scars in the wood grain, you hear the roar of wooden oars against the icy sea, and see the ravens on the masts lifting their wings -- this is the battle flag hanging on the wall, and every angle roars, “True adventure never fears to crash on an unknown reef!”
Hang it! Let everyone who pushes the door in think they've trespassed into a pirate tavern by the fjord; let every moment of late-night overtime lift their eyes and touch the moonlight of a thousand years ago. It's not decoration, it's a code word for the sea water in your veins: “Put away the map, hold on to the compass, the anchor on the wall is always waiting for your triumph.”
-- Chisel the Nordic wild into the walls of your home.
