Silver

It's places like this that set my heart adrift. I look at the diamonds of light reflected off the silvery water and wonder what it would be like.

What would it be like to live in a town of 900 people, where the pace moves at something resembling the torpid crawl of a tortoise in winter? What would it be like to know every single permanent resident and all their dirty laundry? What would it be like to ride a bike, barefoot, to the local grocer and discover that the milk delivery hadn't been made that day because the ferry-boat was fogged in and couldn't run.

Would I find it liberating or suffocating? I rail against the crowds and the traffic and the noise and the rapid tempo of our days, here. I mourn that I have only brief snippets of time to spend in meaningful discussion with the people who I love. Is moving to an island accessible only by ferry the solution to that, or just a case of the sea oats being greener on the other side of the dune?

Probably, I just need to take the lessons of small town, isolated islands back with me into my everyday life in the bustling real world.

• Slow down.
• Breathe deeply.
• Say hello to neighbors.
• Smile at the local cat.
• Sit outside for meals when the weather allows.
• Try a local brew.
• Learn to live without and to patiently wait.
• Spend some time watching birds fly by. 
• Look for the light.

Love each other.

Give peace.