I've moved the one remaining sun faded, floral wicker chair circa 1986 out onto my barren deck to watch the ocean liners glide by on the horizon and past French Cap at dusk. We've sold two refrigerators, a stove, our bed and a lidded pot with last nights pasta still intact, as the woman wasn't going to let it go to another buyer.
Waving goodbye to the last corroded flat bed truck weighed down with our dining table, mismatched wine glasses, and an old gas can, I am still determined to claim a piece of this tiny, lovable, disfunctional rock.
Here comes the rain.
And the live aboards in Fish Bay find shelter under their Bimini's as the liquid gold to this volcanic isle showers the green hills and brings an intoxicating scent of freshness.
I'm sickly startled at the thought of the contrast to an East Village Avenue.
Regrettably I'm leaving this open air asylum far too soon to an even larger not so warm one we call home....wondering if New York has lost it's luster or I've just run out of steam.
When Buffet so poetically said, "We're all here, cause we're not all there, he was talking about me and the song on my salty lips all day..."Not my will, but Yours be done."
You can't direct the wind, but you CAN adjust your sails....
Are you willing to sacrifice your course for His cause?
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