The Ship.

Sometimes, you find yourself on a large ship.
A sturdy ship.
Wooden and worn.
The sun bleached deck beneath your feet telling stories much older, much bigger, than your own.
It’s sails large and billowing, catching the salty breeze, carrying you ever forward.
It’s weathered storms.  Big storms.

Like the one you currently find yourself in.
The wind picks up.
Sails flailing wildly in the forceful gusts.
Menacing swells tossing you back and forth like a toy boat.
The rain coming down in torrents, in cold heavy sheets.
Tops of waves covering the weathered deck with icy water.
The wheel spinning unrestrained, the rudder useless.
And even if it were operable, it would be of no matter.
For even your hands disappear in front of your face into the inky blackness and driving rain.
You can’t steer the vessel.
And even if you could you wouldn’t be able to set a course.

This is when you hunker down.  Wait it out.

This ship is a trusty one.
It’s weathered storms before.  Big storms.
Just like the one you currently find yourself in.
For the time being, you can’t steer the vessel.  You can’t set the course.

But this ship is a trusty one.
It will carry you through this.
And before long the clouds will break.
The sun will creep up on the horizon and wake the day,
Lighting the settled waters.
A soft breeze will fill the faithful sails.
Your course will again be clear.
Grasping the wheel in your calloused hands, you will smile.
Maybe even sing.