The Storm The first rays of dawn shone upon my face. The sunlight illuminated the interior of my tiny yacht. Rising, I stood at the deck, watching the now sparkling blue sea. For the first time, I felt dwarfed by the vastness of the sea; my yacht was nothing compared to the sea. It was the second day of my cruise around the world, a silly challenge I had taken up in a moment of folly. Still I was determined to prove myself in my group of friends.
Such an odyssey would gain my prestige rivaling that of a pop star. However, I had no idea what was to come later. I scanned the morning skies for any cloud that might bring unwanted rain. There was none.
Satisfied with my observation, I went into my cabin, and checked the weather instrument. All was fine, except that the surrounding air pressure was dropping quickly. I was not unduly alarmed. Air pressure fluctuated at sea and thus, I never realized what was about to come. Had I realized, I would have probably abandoned the original course and head for shore. Around noon, the winds began to pick up.
Hoping to gain a little more speed, I hoisted my sails. All was fine until a few moments later. The sky turned dark, rendering day into night. All around me, there was silence, except for the occasional howl of the wind. The sea and the sky blended as one; the whole area turned into night and clouds concealed the sun. The winds steadily grew stronger.
Fumbling in the darkness, I searched for my torchlight, accidentally knocking over something. It began to drizzle. Having found my torchlight, I made my way back to the steering wheel in the cabin, only to hear the cables snapping and see my mast collapse. The sea was now turbulent, with waves over three meters. The initial drizzle now turned into a heavy downpour, soaking the whole yacht.
The Term Paper on Critical Appreciation Of The Poem ‘Ode To The West Wind‘
“Thunder is good; thunder is impressive. But it is lightening that does the work.” The poem ‘’Ode to the West Wind’’ was written in the autumn of 1819, in the beautiful Cascine Gardens outside Florence and was published with ‘‘Prometheus Unbound’’ in 1820. The poet is himself in a mood of despondency and misery and says that he falls upon the thorns of life and is bleeding. He is seeking ...
In the state of panic, I tried to radio for assistance. To my complete horror, I realized I had knocked the radio off the table earlier. It now laid broken on the floor, its circuits rendered unusable by the torrential rain. Now left with no option, I had to sit out the storm and pray that I would survive. The rain steadily grew worse. Visibility was reduced so much the darkened skies, illuminating everything in their path.
Then came the clap of thunder, which reverberated through the entire yacht. I was shivering, partly due to fear and partly because of the cold. The waves crashed onto my yacht, pounding on it endlessly and causing water to enter the ship. I had to bail out the water, or the yacht would sink, probably taking me along with it. In the frigid, icy cold cyclone, bailing water out was no easy task. Every time I bailed out a pail of water, a wave or the rain would have refilled it.
It was an arduous and energy-sapping task; a task which I could either do or die. My insignificant yacht came close to collapsing once. A combination of ferocious winds and giant waves had nearly pushed it over the edge. I held my breath and prayed fervently, hoping for a miracle. There must have been a higher entity that heard my prayers; my little yacht righted itself, determined not to capsize.
Slowly, gradually, the storm began to let up. The skies slowly began to clear, and a reddish sky was revealed. A quick check with my watch told me I had been battling or survival for six hours. Through the storm, I had learnt a valuable lesson, that is, every moment of your life is precious; do not let it slip away.
