Thanksgiving in the Bermuda Triangle

When we all get together, it’s usually smooth sailing, and we drift contentedly, enjoying the companionship of the crew, the warmth of the air and the gentle movement of our boat.

But today, I know we’ve sailed into dangerous waters. While the seas seem calm enough, I can feel it, lurking just below. All sharp angles, currents are twisting and turning, creating deadly eddies that threaten to break though the artificially calm surface and suck us all down into the doldrums.

Oh, yes, I can feel it, just the way I can feel a hurricane bearing down. There’s something pregnant about the atmosphere. Angry energies created in past squalls gather strength, swelling with the promise of an outburst. The still air around us seems to gasp, desperately seeking oxygen as the pressure builds. It feels like a challenge hovers, one that no one dares mention, no one dares take.

Determined, and without the joy we usually feel when we set sail together, we work to pass over it, through it, and hopefully out of it. Conversation is measured, missing the carefree banter of past voyages. No one is able to relax, lest we lose our focus and get swept into the terrible storm that seems to be waiting just over the horizon. We concentrate on keeping the helm straight and the course true. This time out, it feels like work.

Somehow, the storm never comes, and we head for home port. For the first time in hours, it seems, I take a deep breath and unclench. As is appropriate, given the occasion, I am thankful.