I love being on an island. The water, the tropical breezes. The warm nights. Salt water gives one buoyancy and I think the salt air does the same.

It’s a rainy day today, smoky and sultry wispy clouds above; thick cotton below forming shapes and landscapes. Beautiful but fleeting. The thunder rumbles, a reminder of the imminent threat that lurks–lest you forget and hang clothes on the line or go for a bike ride. Sounding like a hungry belly, will it feast where I am or pass me by for some other flavor. Palm fronds blow to and fro, brushing at my awning. “Take it in,” they warn, “before you lose it!” The waves roll and bare their white teeth before crashing under, only to be called to duty. Rising and rolling again and again.

The ones that make it to the beach lap at your feet. Asking to take all that doesn’t serve you, all that burdens you…and wash it out to sea. Never to be seen again. It’s a siren calling to the dark spots on your soul. It cleanses and lightens and brightens.

Storms form, pass and the sun shines again. Wild and crazy quick changes. Watching weather over water is like flying first class–everyone is on the same ride, but you have a better seat. Water enhances everything; rain rinses clean.

Those winds are the winds of change for me, pointing to tomorrow’s hitting of the proverbial road. I’m going to the mainland for two weeks. Off of this rock in the Caribbean. I haven’t booked anything. There’s plenty of spots and I think I keep hoping that something in the Keys opens up. But I’m also excited to go somewhere new. I get that giddy feeling in my chest when I think about moving. Sad to leave friends behind but looking forward to a change in scenery that always yields a change in perspective to go with it.

It’s exciting and it’s bittersweet. It’s weird and it’s wonderful. And I don’t know if I can really live any other way.