Honeymoon Island – February 9, 2013

Sometimes I get so tired that opening up a bag to get a spoon seems like too much to do. I don’t know why today felt that way. I spent last night in warm bed at the top of a staircase in old cracker-style house with a wrap-around porch and a slanted metal roof. I ate piles of shrimp and fried calamari, fresh from the sea, and ended it with almond cookies from a Greek bakery and a bite of baklava. I slept hard with lots of dreams.

I wake up too often to dream much when I’m out, sounds pull me awake, breezes, anything. Nights become more like a string of shallow naps held together by glances at starry skies and moonlight. But last night I slept and I dreamed and I’m still tired today. So tired that when I reached a beach at sunset that spoon felt so far away.

I knew where it was. I didn’t have to look for it. I didn’t have to guess. I only had to unzip a bag and push aside a dry box, nothing more. But I let it sit and ate leftover meatloaf with my fingers, savoring every bite, licking my skin, happy to be part wild.