The Perfect Storm

Little did she know the fury that was about to unfold when she made the decision to walk around Dana Point Harbor.  Sure there were clues, but she was distracted by the smell of the sea and the sight of the sun sinking low into the water.  Maybe she should have felt apprehension as the sky turned to black, for they were there, whirling and churning. The darkened sky filled with the shadows and anguished sounds of the wretched sea fowl.  She took note of the spectacle and yet suspected nothing of the destruction that was about to unfold.  She walked, peacefully gazing at the boats moored in the inner part of the harbor, blissfully unaware of the desecration ahead.  

She enjoyed her walk, confident that she had left her vessel moored securely in the safe part of the harbor.  But as she approached the vehicle, it became clear that a terrible tempest had erupted in her absence.  Fury had rained down on her beloved vessel.  A fury that had left her vehicle defiled and defaced.  The perfect storm had seemingly come out of nowhere.  A squall of excrement so fierce no part of her vessel was left  untainted.  Apprehensively she approached the vessel, but the fury had passed.

Tentatively she climbed in, all was quiet, eerily calm.  There was nothing left to do now.  Nothing she could do now, but put her chin up high and be grateful for the cloak of darkness.  The cloak of darkness that shielded her from all but the nearest travelers.  And with as much pride as she could muster she made her way back to her homeland. To make the journey easier she allowed her mind to wander, pretending that she was royalty traveling in a magnificent carriage, instead of the truth.  The ugly truth; she was that person.  That person you can’t help but point at and laugh at when you see them out on the highway.  She was the tortured soul in the polka dotted car spewed and splattered with the waste of hundreds of effluent sea fowl.