My Brigadoon

I have retreated to the one place I can be myself. Back to the island. During the crossing I sat alone on the bow and let the sea-spray drench me. In the distance the island lay hidden in eerie thick fog, completely socked in. How far away was a mystery; my Brigadoon. At one point it was impossible to see where we were going, never mind where we had been. When the island finally emerged from the mist I was instantly calmed and exhilarated. Home again.

I haven’t done much this first day home. First things first, I let the love know I had arrived safely. Unpacked. Savored cherries while finishing a heartbreaking book, one leg slung over the back of the sun porch couch; the afternoon sun hot on my thighs. Later, took a short walk to the Cove to pick through shells, sand and seaweed. A mother mallard and her brood of four eyed me with wary curiosity. I did everything to assure mama I was friend, not foe. As they watched me steal shells from the shore I knew my secret was safe with mama. We had an unspoken understanding. The sun sparkled on the rising tide. Later, crawled over rocks to visit the shipwreck that has been in my life for as long as I can remember. She’s rusting into the ground and you can see more sky through her hull than ever before but she remains the queen of the cove. Photographed her and imagined a day when her rust would subside to dust and she would be no more. I couldn’t completely picture it but then again, I could. Nothing lasts forever. Came home to a silent house. A glass of wine to toast the setting sun and my solitude.

I don’t think it was barely 10pm when I decided to make my way to bed. No television. No spoken word. No hum of electronics. As darkness settled about the house I contemplated a candle or two. After careful consideration I decided against it. Too tired to watch the flame. The adult me climbed into my childhood bed, choosing the narrow, short single over the bigger double of the guest room. Why, I do not know. With my phone by my side I fell asleep to the sound of the surf just outside my door.

Categories: Confessional, life, Monhegan | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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