aloha

you say goodbye, i say hello

Island Summer. Seagulls. Lobsterboats. The general store, blueberry muffins cooling on the windowsill; the historical museum spinning stories of nine generations; the fire station crammed with old furniture and tools for the annual summer auction; the little library, its book signings and bake sales; three-room schoolhouse where I learned penmanship and flutophone; post office and lighthouse and beach where teenage me, slathered in baby oil, soaked up rays, American Top 40 on the tinny yellow transistor radio.

And each autumn I leave the island, wistfully clinging to August and each summer I return, entwined in the sea lace of solitude.

my grandfather’s illustration from Enchanted Island