The parade of crabs passed by me, a foot or so away, as I sat on the beach, reading. There were at least a dozen, probably closer to two dozen, crabs that scuttled by from up the beach, down into the rocks, completely oblivious to my presence.
The water at the beach this morning was choppy, but still warm and clear. I swam out and treaded water long enough to work off the bacon-egg-cheese sandwiches we had for breakfast, and then set myself on the beach with a book while everyone else kept swimming.
Perhaps I am too picky, too set in my ways, but I have yet to find any postcards on this island that appeal to my taste. Instead, my solo trip to town involves buying stamps (for the postcards I will inevitably buy), groceries, and a slab of cassava pone that weighs more than all the rest of my purchases combined.
I lug the bags back up the hill in the intense sun. I will need a drink, and possibly a nap, when I return.
There are tarpons in the water, scavenging for their meal as we enjoy the seaside view from our dinner table. We watch the surf crash upon the rocks below us and catch the last glimpses of daylight upon the horizon. Sailboats float, not far away, in the darkness.
Our Valentine's Day dinner at The Tides restaurant is magical, with delicious food, excellent service, and a decor that is stunning and unlike anywhere we have been before. L is beautiful in her pink floral dress; she laughs and smiles and I am happy, so happy, to be with her, here and now, and forever.
We make it back home just before the skies open up, just before a sonorous, rhythmic rain begins to fall, a lullaby for the night ahead, cleansing the hot air for the morning.