Ok so maybe I'm procrastinating. Dragging my feet a little. Eking out the summertime memories here. I don't think anyone would blame me, but just in case, I did have some excuses planned for you (last weekend I was in Connecticut, the weekend before I was in Istanbul. Truly strange but truly true!)
But forget all that. Because honestly, in my mind's eye, I hope I will always be right here on this beach, on this gentle August evening, ginger beers that would become dark and stormies gently rolling in surf, with this on the tapedeck and sand up to my ankles and nothing left to do but build a bonfire and watch the sun going down, over the ocean, as it should be, for ever and always.
No island summer is complete without at least one trip up to Pt. Disney, the top of our rock. Time after time I walk down that same dirt road and along the curves of that same well-worn footpath, and time after time, coming 'round that final bend, the view never fails to catch me off guard. You can't help but get a little still, a little stupefied. There's just so damn much of it.
Bumping back down the mountain, blasting the tape deck and eating handfuls of sun-melted trail mix like no tomorrow, we stopped by the airstrip on the way home and came across an old airplane waiting patiently for her owner.