“When harbored amongst you are only ghosts, dreams and nightmares, it’s a little hard to imagine Heaven.”
Pell-Mell Thoughts can strike at the strangest time, triggered by the least likely signal. A SCUBA diving flag on a Jeep originally triggered a rushing start to this hanging ocean tale:
The railings were still wet from the last rogue wave, as were my glasses.
Splashes matching the tallied pulse with a rhythm drip from both sides.
Everything was wet, even stuff that wasn’t supposed to get wet.
The deck flattened briefly, revealing the true silhouettes of the attacking mountains of water.
It was lifting. Just a little bit, but it was slowing down – the lateral rain, the frequency of the waves, even the winds.
And my pulse?
Definitely lifting. This was no extraordinary storm, but riding it out in a boat that shouldn't’t even float is not just crazy - it’s a death wish with sugar on top.
Now add being tied to the mast - Homer-esque - and maybe spray-painted, and then throw the little storm in.
One thing for sure. Tomorrow’s going to be a lot better than today..."I'm sorry, did you want fries with that?"
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