Steady the ship

 Douglas was an old sailor, his skin weathered and his eyes like the Caribbean sea itself — deep, constant, and knowing. His boat, The Sea Gouti, was as old as he was, its wooden planks creaking with the rhythm of the waves, its sails patched from years of service. But neither the boat nor Douglas were deterred by the storms that often raged across the islands. They had both seen more than their fair share of tempests, and neither feared them.

One evening, as dark clouds began to roll over the horizon, Douglas stood at the helm of The Sea Gouti, a steady hand on the wheel, his gaze unwavering. The storm was coming, and it would be fierce. The winds howled and the sea churned, but Douglas didn’t flinch. He had sailed these waters for decades, and he knew the paths like the back of his hand. The old lighthouses, flickering in the distance, were his guides. Island to island, he had navigated through every kind of weather, always with a quiet confidence, for he knew the sea in a way that most couldn’t understand.

As the storm hit, the waves crashed violently against the side of the boat, and the winds whipped around him. But Douglas simply adjusted the sails with practiced ease, steering The Seabound between the towering waves. The storm might have rattled others, but Douglas was at peace. He trusted the sea — he had trusted it all his life. It was a part of who he was.

The boat creaked as the wind howled, but it wasn’t the boat that mattered. It was the knowing in Douglas’ heart that, no matter how fierce the storm, he knew the way forward. He had sailed these waters before. He knew where the reefs were hidden, where the lighthouses stood like silent sentinels, guiding him safely through the darkest nights.

Through the storm, Douglas’s mind remained calm, his hands steady on the wheel. He glanced toward the distant lighthouse on the next island, its light flickering through the downpour. His destination was clear, the path ahead as familiar to him as the stars in the sky.

The storm raged for hours, but Douglas never wavered. He was unmoved by the fury around him, for he had walked through countless storms before. The sea would roar, the winds would howl, but the lighthouses would always shine through, guiding him home.

By dawn, the storm had passed. The sky cleared, and the waters settled. The Sea Gouti drifted peacefully toward the island, and Douglas smiled to himself. He had made it through another storm, just as he always had. Not because the storm had not been fierce, but because he knew the way. He trusted the lighthouses, trusted the paths he had sailed for a lifetime, and most of all, trusted himself.

And so, like every storm before it, this one had come and gone. But Douglas, the old sailor, remained — unshaken, steadfast, and confident in the journey ahead.