Journal day 2

Anchors tilled the sea bed back and forth until morning, each pass all but covering the last... All but. The skies were clear this morning. The crew was tense, but the calm weather was a welcome relief.  The day's activities, known to all, seemed to go by about as fast as could be expected from the perspective of anxiously waiting just off the precipice of eternity.  There were tears in the hull, that much was certain, but it had always been so hardy a vessel that none seemed truly concerned. What was concerning was the Captain's plan, which he explained to the exhausted crew that just had what felt like a soul's reprieve. He proposed a return to the edge of the path of the ghost wind storm.  Not into it mind you, just close enough where he could strap himself to the mast and take it all in, while the rest of the crew waited below deck. If he could pull this off, he would be clipped and engulfed, but instead of being claimed, he could claim lightning in a bottle. His reasons were as unclear as they always were, but a sparkle from the upper back quadrant of his left eye always carried a weight with it, and the crew felt confident, even now, though they had been let down so many times before. There comes a point where nothing is a risk except existing in this state longer than you have to, and they had passed this point already. So they prepared to set sail, back to the edge of the storm.