In the Eye of the storm

 In the Eye of the Storm

I found myself in the middle of

storm coming 

an endless expanse of water, the horizon a perfect circle around me. The boat drifted gently, a deceptive calm, with only the faintest ripples from the coming storm. The sky had darkened, clouds gathering in a swirl of angry grays and blacks, their movements quickening, mirroring the racing of my own thoughts. I had no compass, no path back, and no shore in sight.

Everywhere around me, the water stretched on—boundless, silent, yet charged with a strange tension. My boat, small and weathered, seemed like a speck against the vastness of nature. I knew the storm was drawing near, each gust of wind growing colder, sharper, as if it too were warning me of the tempest to come. But the way back was lost, and with it, the familiar safety of home.

Now, I had only two choices: brace myself against the storm, navigating its chaos with every ounce of strength and instinct left in me, or surrender to the unknown, letting the sea decide my fate. And as the first raindrop struck the bow, I felt a strange calm—a resolve that, whatever happened, I would see it through.