A small unadorned white frame draws me in like none of the gilded examples of fine antique woodwork hanging nearby do. The more I stare at the small canvas the more vivid the colors within become, and the world around recedes into the background, as the sounds and smells emerge...

A small perfectly white sail boat balanced for a moment on top of a great crest before starting to descend down the grey slope of a huge wave. She stood at the bow, seemingly unaffected by a raging storm. Her long black hair became a wet tangled mess long time ago, her white dress was soaked through and became nearly transparent, wind gusts sent clouds of salty spray into her impossibly perfect face.

“Still too much lemon,” – she said licking her lips and closing her eyes briefly. – “I can’t catch the right shift.”

“She’s not going to take this for much longer”, - her companion at the wheel replied calmly. The boat creaked ominously as it crossed the trough and started to run up the next slope, propelled forward by a pair of bright white sails.

“She will last,” – she replied, staring intently at the wave in front of her. The water color shifted from gray to more violent purple and the wind slammed into the sails with hurricane force.

“I suppose the engine would not start here,” – the man commented, deftly shifting the rudder. The boat made hard port turn, escaping a pair of colliding waves that reached the top of the mainmast.

“Sorry. No engines here.”

Another wave coming from nowhere slammed in to the starboard side of the craft tilting it so much that the mainsail started flapping in the water.

“Warn me next time,” – the man said leaning hard off the side, and defying gravity and wind pulled the little craft back upright.

“Next time,” – she warned obediently. The wave turned deep blue and their boat plummeted off the foaming crest, but instead of sinking through the bubbling waters below the little craft slid down the slope and righted itself in the trough.

“Thank you,” – the man replied in a calm voice. He was standing at the wheel again, and his hands moving as they kept the boat dancing between the waves. – “Any particular heading we need?”

She studied the sky for a long moment, looking for something among the heavy lead clouds, focusing on the pattern of lightning flashes.

“He is blocking us. The southern reaches are closed.”

“Do you want to turn back?”

“We already came too far. He can’t block all my paths in the seas, they would never agree to that.”

Twin waves broke over the bow covering them both with sheets of cold water. The hull beneath their feet groaned, as if the boat itself was in pain.