The storm is passing, and the seas are leveling considerably.
The sun, that elusive minx, flashed us a little bit here and there.
There is less water seeping in between the cracks and
working its way to my lungs.
The mutineers are losing steam, and the not-so-familiar
of pencils can be heard for hours any given day.
The deck is getting a daily swab
And the laundry is as caught up as it will ever be.
Some things never change.