Behind me, Osprey floats in her slip looking like a bizarre form of beetle, covered as she is with a patchwork of heat-reflecting tarps. An air-conditioner propped in the companionway rumbles and sighs. The well-tuned sailing machine that carried us over 1,200 miles of Caribbean Sea from the Dominican Republic to Guatemala a month ago is under all that stuff somewhere. But now we're firmly planted for the hurricane season, and though that was the plan all along, this sudden, prolonged stillness is more unsettling than watching a squall stalking the horizon. At least it has been, until lately.