Life storms

Recently found on a piece of paper that had been crumpled up and then flattened out again, Jane wrote this not long after 9/11:

Rain pelts the deck of the boat with fury.  I lose my footing as gusts of wind force the ketch to roam the slip without consent.  Listening to the barrage, the rain becomes heavy on my shoulders and seeps into my conscience.

Why does this glorious essential plague me so?  Often its tip-toe sound lulls me into a blissful sleep.  But today the edge of gray-blue silver drops cut to an area of my thought that is vulnerable.

So much on my mind makes the visitor seem intusive.  Why now?  I am heavy with a need to make decisions, which seemingly made, won't have any impact on the course of events.  The visitor challenges my significance.

Maybe the challenge is not as first perceived.  As I ride the storm, the headlines of the paper on the settee ebb and I concentrate on the integrity of our ties, securing the spring line to comfort the craft.

The ketch no doubt would have suffered no real harm.  Yet now I realize my wet encounter found me decisive and directed.  I took no time to ponder the what-ifs or what-mights.

Lines cleated for life's storms.

Life storms