The violent rocking of the boat is mentionable in respect to both how large the craft is and how rough the sea outside must be. I wouldn’t know as my cabin is located deep in the belly of the hull of the ship. I’ve been down here for an indeterminate amount of time but I’d guess for hours, maybe even a couple of days. The storm has been raging and turning the sea for a long time and our old vessel is being shaken and tossed about like a ball in a bingo rack. It creaks and moans as its salt-rusted joints bend and sway with every pitch of the hard unforgiving sea as it slams into the hull with a frightful force. But I trust this old boat. I’ve been sailing on this ship forever and these seas for even longer. As treacherous and unpredictable as the sea and weather is I still, and always will, have faith in my vessel and it’s old-handed crew. These men, these soldiers of the sea, have been a part of my crew for well over 20 years and even more have been my dear friends through life’s up and downs, like the tides along the shores. And like this ship we work and live in we all have character. We all have our stories and our winding roads we’ve been down, each of them leading us to one similar present destination. The bonds created between comrades on our shared seafaring journey are as strong as the iron welds and rivets holding this old boat together. We have our creaks and our groans, especially during rough times but we always stay strong and steadfast. A band of water gypsies roaming the open seas in search of our next port of call where we’ll gather our required supplies, find a place to drink, remember and then to forget. We always reminisce about the old days of land life and past loves and friendships but soon turn our thoughts back to the endless open expanse that is our true calling. Our home. The seas.