I can say it is my kind of town, people like to stay out late, everyone is friendly, and the spirits are flowing.
I haven't written, I know. It was a 5-day journey by car to get here.
Toronto.
Syracuse, New York.
Stockbridge, Mass. The Red Lion Inn, the almost-halfway point in the drive from Toronto to Maine.
Scarborough, Maine (Mike's home). Maine and Massachusetts and New York state were covered in snow. Piles of it.
Old Lyme and Hartford, Connecticut--the broken-hearted state. Mike's generous aunt, giving us a place to stay. The beach in winter.
Durham, North Carolina to visit with my lovely and wise friend G., whom I have known since
I was a small child but had not seen in twenty years. Her sweet little dog M.G.
Savannah, Georgia, oysters on a Saturday night while watching NFL (it doesn't get more American than that).
Boca Raton, Mike's aunt again, a meal and wine and some wild and wonderful warm rain. A funny doorman.
Finally. The Keys. 80 degrees farenheit. The weather defying the predictions and the rain staying away. Millions of pictures. Renting bikes, riding under the canopies of palm trees, the sky blanketed with stars. A sunset that brought me to tears with its beauty. The line of the horizon, so close but so impossibly far.
The book I finished reading today while Mike slept, a heartbreaking memoir of sibling grief, "Names All the Animals", by Alison Smith. Re-visiting my own grief over my father and my friend G.'s death, somehow always inexplicably intertwined for me.
Weather on an island passes over quickly, the sunset lingers for mere minutes.
You can blink and miss it.
And somehow, when I am on an island, any island, my emotions tend to mirror the weather--they are quicksilver, my tears quickly mingling in salt water, my sadness washing away with the tide.
I took this picture on the pier, where they have literary quotes carved everywhere.
Just liked it. I'm not sure what it means, but it spoke to me.
Off to see another sunset.
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