the arrival

I’m writing from high atop my four-poster bed...the a/c is on, and I can see the Caribbean sea just a few feet from my front porch. I’d like to take a nap right now, but will push myself to go out for a minute. Was up with the first bird at 4:45am, had a smooth flight, and enjoyed the ferry ride over to Nevis even though the windows had to be closed to keep out the spray. They opened them up again as we pulled up to Charlestown and I could see Nevis Peak—green and inviolate, though new housing developments are gradually encroaching. I looked at the peak swathed in fog and wondered how “Congo Sarah” managed to live up there for a year (in 1730). She’s the only woman fugitive I’m come across so far, though I’m sure there were many more. How do you escape when you’re on an island? You climb the peak…

It’s strange to be back—I want to say it’s not my first time here, but after being away for almost a decade, I can’t claim to remember much. Think I’ll take a tour of the island tomorrow with Edith, the nice taxi driver who warned me about the deceptively shallow water here at Oualie Beach. You can go out half a mile without the water going above your waist—but then what? I’m terrified of the sea. Don’t want to put on my bathing suit b/c I know I’m not ready to venture in. My friend Kate thinks I must have been a bird in another life. Sounds right to me. No matter how high or far she soars, a bird has to land somewhere eventually.

This bed is so tempting…but must go out. Head’s full of stuff and a walk always helps to sort things out. Plus I can hear the birds calling me…