Here comes that old familiar feeling again.
That foul taste with every swallow.
The immanent arrival of an unwanted and unwelcome storm.
Batten down the hatches.
Take stock of supplies and grab a few necessities while you still can.
Do we have enough sacks of flour, barrels of whiskey, and bags of potatoes?
Are there still fresh herbs in the larder and powders in the medicine cabinet?
Coil the ropes, batten down the hatches, fasten every loose item
for this one’s going to be a nasty blow!
Tempestuous seas, howling gale, tossing the hull to and fro.
Feverish heat waves and icy frosts fight for domination, first one, then the other.
Reef the main! Too much sail! Take down the mizzen and keep her close hauled.
Almost on autopilot the crew responds, doing what they must to make it through.
There hasn’t been a blow like this in decades.
Storm of the century they’re calling it.
After three days and nights the worst was over.
The captain cautiously ventured out on deck to survey the damage.
Only minor injuries to the crew. The sails made it through with minor tears.
The seas were a confusing chop, responding to changing winds.
Although some of the cargo shifted, it wasn’t badly. Stability was still intact.
And her hull was still sound.
She always was his favorite vessel. No matter what the weather and seas threw at him,
She always came through for him.
What he never realized, was that it was his undying love for her that gave her the
Strength to keep going.
His love and tender care.
Just then, there was a break in the clouds long enough for
the navigator to confirm their position.
Looks like we’ll make it again.
Trust in our navigation, knowing how to handle rough seas, and a nice mug of whiskey pulled us through again.
We’re almost home.