The sky darkens as I look over the waves,
A storm is coming.
Racing over the miles of unkempt water,
Racing towards me.
The winds pick up,
Howling like a coyote,
Tussling my hair.
Looking out from the crow’s nest,
As the grey clouds sprawl across the sky.
The storm is racing towards us.
The thunder rumbles,
Shaking my bones,
And the waves churn below,
Caping themselves with white foam.
The rain starts,
First a drizzle dampening the deck,
Then a downpour.
The storm is unfurling its beauty and fear.
The sails straining against the northern winds,
Threatening us with their strength,
Yanking in the ropes,
Battening down the hatches,
The storm is here.
The waves toss us across the ocean,
Throwing us from side to side,
Slipping and sliding to the prow,
Steering her away from harm.
Racing against time,
Squinting through the storm.
The waters tugging the rudder away from our destination.
Pushing the tiller away,
Trying to fight the oceans fray.
This is the thrill of being a sailor,
The excitement of a brewing storm,
And the strength to steer our ship from harm.