No plane to catch

I saw an igloo on the beach, this morning.  No Eskimos in sight.  No blue glacier in the distance  … just an inflatable igloo with two people inside who were wearing very little and quietly turning pages.  No, I wasn’t staring at them … I was merely beholding.  (Much better.)

And not far away from this igloo were a woman and child hauling over-sized sea-worthy noodles across the sand.  And two Japanese tourists were waist-high in the low tide giggling noisily while dousing each other with what certainly looked like wet cannons.  And off in the background, an ambitious fellow was excavating a crater large enough to one day be his own swimming pool by the sea.  He looked very happy and didn’t seem to notice that his pool was entirely dry.

I silently beheld. (Or should I say — beheld silently?)

This is where I live.  And there’s simply no way in the world I’ll ever find my return ticket back to the mainland —  because last year we only bought one half the usual size.  And even though we’ve now spent close to 51 weeks on this island, surrounded by water, I’m not the least bit curious to set foot on a continental mass.  Not tomorrow, anyway — or next month, either.  Thoroughly tied to my island here.

You see I live on a very big island. Way bigger than Manhattan, which never ever gave me island fever, either.  And a long time ago,  I went to elementary school someplace on Long Island. Lots of islands in my past and present, a life-long tradition of breathing and eating apart from the mainland.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKc-r2WmLL0  (One of my all-time favorite Jimmy Buffet songs about guess what?)