On the horizon

I'm writing this letter and sealing it in a bottle in case I'm lost at sea and never found, or marooned on some desert island.

There is a storm on the horizon, and it looks like one of those great big tropical roaring storms that threatens to swamp everything in its path. If my raft had any hatches, I would batten them downm, if I had any cargo... I'd secure it, but as I can't, I'm just watching it loom over me.

It's funny to think how it could have snuck up on me. I've been so worried about the raft, and the little apple crate where the Glade cutting is growing that I've completely missed the tell-tale drop in pressure and the cessation of the breeze.

I'm tempted to pull into a port somewhere, violate my quarantine and seek shelter, but that would not be wise... the quarantine remains in place, my earlier sneaking notwithstanding.

I'm tempted to put out a distress call to teh coast guard and be rescued... but I think I will face this one alone. It won't be the last storm I encounter out here, so it better be the first one I survive out here, and it would be nice if it were the last one that frightens me.