On the horizon they gather, looking ominous and swollen with rain. The sea does then start to rise; her waves white capped. Our small craft, by comparison the ocean so large ready to face the coming deluge. Her captain secure in the knowledge of his forebears, knowledge passed down through history, knowledge and ability to plot a course through the storm.
No horizon seen on any compass point. Darkness with flashes of lightening is the sky above and around. The sea and the sky as one have overtaken our small craft. She is taking on water, but the pumps are staying in control. Her captain taking a soueasterly tack heading directly into the waves breaking across her bow. She is a small boat, but forty feet, though she does react with the strength given her by her builders.
The captain, taking no chances, did order all aboard to wear life preservers. No mayday sent, just a message as to her position, the captain sure of himself and his craft. So for a day and a night, she did bore through this storm with all her ability. She strained under a gale force wind, no one slept that night, her stabilizers put to the test. Coffee and donuts did flow as did prayer, but her captain could not afford the time. He was there to win against this storm; he was there to conquer Nature as was his nature.
On the second day the storm clouds did part. The ocean calmed and the sun did peek through. The rain did stop and the horizon showed a blue sky, and all was right again. We did survive another blast of old mom oceans fury, but if she wanted us, she could have taken us and sent us to our glory. After surviving one storm, no one could ever again not fear the ocean and its surrounding ecology. For if one does not fear the sea, then they should never again set foot on a boat. Proud may be the captain, and sure of his craft, but he is never so proud that he thinks he can win forever against the ocean and Nature.
© ed ~ 6/5/05