Is this a cruel trick of exhaustion and delirium? Or, no, it must be real. I look away and back again. There on the horizon. A sail!
I hear the hornpipe -- they are dancing on deck. I leap atop my bit of flotsam fluttering and squawking, "Ahoy! The Boat ahoy!"
I hear the blessed sound, "Bird ho!" and soon I am lifted dripping from the sea and lose consciousness. When I awake I find myself on deck of the most nefarious pirate ship in these or any other waters.
DD,
I am locked in the hold, a tiny porthole my only source of light and air. I, who sailed the vast blue sea aboard my own stout little boat, now languish, locked in the dark, dank hold of the infamous Wishbone. Yet, my prison is also my salvation.
The fearsome pirates scratching about on deck above me are generous enough with food and water. I am grateful to be alive. And I have found paper and pen stowed here, so I can pass the time by writing.
DD,
After Robbie's death I was bereft. I turned to the sea for comfort and sanctuary, and sailed the Wet Hen toward the horizon. The fresh sea breeze and salt spray a welcome relief. After a time the routine, and the sound of water and waves, comforted my troubled soul.
DD,
Far out to sea, after a good long run, the Wet Hen was becalmed. Caught in the doldrums, as days became weeks, my supply of food and fresh water became alarmingly low. It was half rations for me, and still not a breath of wind. Yet I could only wait and pray for a fair wind to send me on my way.