Lopez

    The pace is whatever I choose.  A rare chance to move exactly the speed I want.  I wander the Village, it’s inhabitants warmly greeting and waving at every turn.  They too all seem to have settled on a leisurely gait.

    I go into an art co-op.  Sure, they have dozens of them back in the city.  Yet somehow, there they seem pretentious and snobby.  Here, I find it gorgeous.  Not really the art, though a few pieces grab my eye, but more the feeling that it is all done just to be done.  Because on the island you create, at your own speed, and it is all more about the creation than what comes of it all.

    The woman behind the counter has something to say about everything.  A real talker.  The time of person I would begrudgedly put up with back home.  Yet somehow here, I find it cute.  This woman so happy to pass the day talking with passersby and  never make a sale.

    I walk the road toward the bay, and soon find myself in a field of dandelions.  Such a common, unremarkable flower.  Today, I am bewitched by the beautiful sea of yellow blossoms.  Take a moment to lay in the grass.  And why not?  Why shouldn’t I take these moments every day?

    In this place with so little to do, there is somehow so much to fill the time.  An intoxicating air.  Something seeps in and settles the usual turmoil.  And I want to remain here.  Swim in the frigid waters of the Sound and live the simpler life of the Village.  But perhaps being a visitor is what makes it all so sweet.  Perhaps it is stepping out of my life that gives it all such fresh perspective.

    Perspective, my new obsession.  It is everything.