I woke and looked into an old man’s eyes.  It was like looking into the deepest part of the ocean at dusk; transparent, yet dark.  The thought of the ocean brought back the night before, the storm, the waves crashing over the boat, the broken mast.

“Be calm, my son,” the man said.  His accent was strange, one I’d never heard before.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“Safe,” he said.

“How did I get here?”

He stared at me with those ocean-deep eyes.  “You were washed up on the beach this morning after the storm.”

“Beach?”  I knew my last location and there was not any land for hundreds of miles.  Even the strongest storm wouldn’t have pushed me to the land.  “What island is this?  Is it part of the Azores?  They were so far distant, how…?”

“Don’t worry about where you are, just know you are safe.  You were lucky you found us.  There are few safe harbors when the ill winds blow.”

Lucky I found them?  What did the man mean?  In my mind I saw towering waves, but a stone needle towering even above the waves, a beacon of hope.  For some reason, I knew that the tower of stone watched over the flat harbor where I landed, saw me safely to land.

“Well, thank you for saving me,” I said.

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