My bags are packed.
It’s kind of strange, seeing your life condensed into two weeks and three bags.
Two weeks in a little seaside rental, waiting for life to begin in earnest. Two weeks, with my needful possessions and nothing more. Time to breathe. To find the grocery stores. To drive by the library. To walk on the beach. To see my family.
Even as I packed the last of my books, I think I knew I’d have to make one last run to C&W Books, because it isn’t a new start if there aren’t some new stories to look forward to.
As I get tired in my empty room, suitcase and backpack lined up against the blank wall, I cannot stop thinking of new stories and new beginnings. The smell of sand and seagulls. The swamps and wild horses. The island that will one day, though a slow process I cannot schedule, become my island.
And pages in the summer sea wind.