Sixty Nine days until we reach Key West.
Tis a mythic storm! Me first mate tells me the White Spirit be off course. Damnation! This be the same gale that took the Black Swan off her original navigation to set her course with destiny straight.
Hanging desperately to the rail Alvida Viper approaches, "We be off course Captain!" she shouts through the wind. "Aye." "The sea be not deep enough Captain!" she yells over the roar of crashing waves. "Are ye mad??? We'll drown in this ocean!" "Captain! We'll miss our connection if we don't find deeper waters. At this rate, we'll never reach the sands of the uncharted isle!" She be right, I agree, but I taint never sailed a ship of destiny and in all me years of sailing, feel ill equipped to navigate this peculiar journey. What am I to do?
Through the stinging rain Alvida begins to cry. "Every woman has lost a child," she sings out, like the song of the sirens, while she cries more. "My baby died inside, ne'er a mother shall I be!" Her weeping begins to fill the ocean. The pirate girls nine have come above deck. With ropes, they be lashed to the mast. Hand in hand they cry a million tears for all the babies that can never be born and in all the tears of the ocean, it be just water. The White Spirit of the Casteneda begins to rise. I be at the helm in a violent struggle with the waves. And still she rises. The grief of the women creates a profound depth I cannot fathom, but embrace nonetheless as the White Spirit most assuredly rights herself and prepares for her meeting with the fates.
Your Servant, Captain Billy Jack Wordsworth