There’s a lighthouse in the distance.
I can barely see it over the waves.
But I know it’s there.
I see the ripples of the light caught on the water.
The horizon in the distance.
The flickers of light just below my nose.
I felt a prang of longing for that light.
It’s time to leave the shore.
I get into my ship. A tiny, but mighty ship.
I grab the rope, untethering it from the beach.
Too distracted by the light in my eyes to see the storm ahead,
I set my sights on the glimmer in the vastness ahead of me.
For now, I feel the swaying,
My stomach is in my chest.
The sails move closer toward the tiny coast.
I hold my breath. I grit my teeth.
The sky is grey, and the wind is erratic.
Yet I still pursue the light.
One moment, the sails billow up, matching the clouds that I could remember in the daylight.
Time pauses.
The moment of peace etches its way into my vision for a moment.
It was there at a point, right? The still, beautiful, calm sails?
But I remember that stillness also means the destination will never come.
The sails snap back into a wild pattern of full and taunt.
I look toward the water. Churning, rolling, and terrifying.
But it’s dark. And cold. And bleak, you see.
The tempest howls.
The sail came off.
I panic. I feel the ship tipping backward.
But I paddle. I keep my eyes focused.
Yet, the journey seems so far.
The deep, dark water looks like a mirror.
I feel terror.
But I press on, anyway.
I know I can lead my ship to safe harbor.
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