This is an old dream. He can't remember precisely when he had it, he was younger, much younger. He - in mind, not body - is travelling through a storm on the ocean, the sky, the sea a deep ultramarine. Great waves reach up to low and ragged slate-grey clouds, fall back again as twisting waterspouts, giant Atlanteans, shrugging the clouds and rain from their shoulders.
In the water, great shadows can be seen moving beneath the phosphorescence of the billows and swells
There's a ship, a galleon, spinning in a hollow, and he lands upon it, enters, the wood glows from within as if lit by amber or flickering embers, a warm light in contrast to the maelstrom outside. Down into a cabin below decks and there is upon it a small iron-bound chest, and as he nears it opens to reveal within a dazzling silver hand, posed holding a pen...