A man with not much to lose and severed from purpose – island hopping in
in his sailboat to
sighted an  island about 2 miles in length.  He docked the sailboat in the
harbor with fishing boats sleepily nodding in  blue green water
and began walking in no particular direction.   The island had clean streets,
tidy New England style clapboard houses , cozy pubs and small shops with
their their angled shades.  Small clouds of cabbage whites lowered and
seemed to cloak the man as they darkened.  It began to rain and he stepped into
a pub with a gingerbread balcony,  yellowing gables  and eaves of fading green –
it seemed wrinkled with the years.
The man ordered beer and grilled fish and watched the rain falling through
the port hole window of the pub.  The grilled fish was fresh and light and
the beer cold.  The fishermen in the pub seemed unhurried, with quiet eyes.
They bantered with the bartender in a cool pleasant way that seemed unfamiliar
to the man – it echoed a simpler time and place.  The waitress was pleasant and
attractive with an easy laugh.  He finished the meal and drank another beer
while listening to the rain pattering on the tin roof  – cocooned by blue seas and
thoughts.  And the thought occurred to him that it would always be perfect here.
But the storm passed and the fishermen got back on their boats.
And as if by nature:  The man returned to his sailboat, undid the lines and sailed
away slowly, listening to gentle waves washing against the boat.  He never looked
back to this small island,
but wondered why he did not stay there.

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