Music:  Black Sun by Death Cab for Cutie

Reading:  On the Concord and the Merrimack by Henry David Thoreau

This place is clean, and remote, and alone.  Standing full of trees in a tranquil sea.  The ferries providing the communication and life to this little space.

It seems to be a place where people go to vacation, or rest, or start a small business.  To drink coffee and read a book, or be concerned about the environment, but in an organized, clean way.

The restaurants are pleasant.  Messages are meaningful but polite.  A rainbow flag flies beneath an American one.  The bakery here is politely controversial, not Eugene controversial.  What is it with bakeries and coffee houses and controversies?

Is it because artists crave the sweet and crave the caffeine?  Why does all the local artwork live at the local bakery or coffeehouse?  Why is all the poetry housed there?  What is it about the bitterness and the sweet mixed together with coffee and cream?  What is it about art and controversy?

Could I ever live here on this island?  Perhaps when I am older and more weathered and ready to lay down my weapons.  Observing here makes me realize that I indeed am carrying weapons.  That I do have more battles or more moments or more whatever to keep seizing or fighting.  To move here would be to rest, to give those goals to a younger generation or not even them, perhaps to others who still have beasts to slay.

This is such a wonderful place to visit though.  It is so gentle and peaceful and kind.  But yes, still not the right place for a restless mind, who still feels she has the ability to persuade and convince, and give of herself.  No, this is not her place yet.

Yet.  It is funny I say that. That the possibility of existing here for the rest of my life could actually be something worth considering.  It is in a way picking out my own grave site near a beautiful and rolling sea.  On one hand, oh so welcome, and on the other hand so chilling.

However, when I am ready to give up my weapons and long to simply sit on a balcony and watch the water, read books at midnight, enjoy long meals and daily strolls into town, I may come here.  When I am ready for conversations over delicious chocolate muffins, and live out the rest of my days, yes perhaps then,  I will come here.

This place feels like an ending.  A place too close to paradise.  I am too young for it yet.