Excerpt to an Atlantic odyssey

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…We were navigating towards the direction of Truro, with a velocity of 106 miles p/h under rude eastern winds, with a nifty device: the captain moved along; the waves were high at the parallel and we had to endure the tempest to abate, then erect sails to go ahead among tall walls of cold water.

The rising dryness of the air, and the limpidity of the sky, was unfortunately blended with unbeatable blizzards coming now from direction north/east towards us. 

The shores of the cliffy islands seemed to be inhabited by Dianas Apodectas or female beings resembling of: 

something cracked on the ship's deck…

A rude blizzard roundly coming from the north/east, made the ship shift violently the course in direction Biscay: 45 minutes after fighting desperately the winds, almost shattering the higher top of the ship, we found ourselves on open ocean, close to the parallel 47, triangulating with Bordeaux, and at the base, the dark-northern shores of Iberia.

The color of the ocean was irritatingly green, offensively blue as the sky then got open suddenly by rough winds from the east: this situation was pushing us more and more toward the west, toward an unknown destination under a blue sky enchanted by the horror, while our spirit was almost surrounded by our inner Damons.