I can't sleep, so which one of you savages wants to read me a bedtime story? 🤔📖😴

Life was hard for common folk on the west coast of Ireland in the mid-nineteenth century. The men who
went out to harvest the sea in small boats were no exception. The sea took her toll and tax. She was a
cruel mistress at the best of time, and seldom went unpaid.
An Oak plaque hung on a wall in the local church, engraved on it were the names of the boats, their
crew and the years they were lost. Each year that passed it could be counted on that one or more new
names would be added to the memorial.
The wind tossed Suzanne’s wavy auburn hair as she walked along the well-worn path. Her long, dark
green skirt snapped and blew like an untrimmed sail. Her white blouse billowed out like a spinnaker as
she held her dark, fringed shawl tight around her shoulders.