The waves will ever hit the shore, she pondered, looking over the frost bitten surf. It was a cold winter, and the ocean was a raging darkness set against the pure white of ice and snow and cloudy sky. A lonely ship, she spied, was out in the harbor.
A prayer, silent, passed her lips as a small cloud of breath. No words, just the name, Jesus, whispered in desperation so quietly that only God would hear. She prayed for her son, her son out in the winter sea, the rocking winter sea.
The ship bobbed unevenly, setting out into open waters where it would pass from her sight. Soon day would come; before noon, she prayed to Jesus, he would be home.