I love coming to the Caribbean island of St. John with the family and here we are.
I enjoy the juxtaposition of the lazy warmth here most any time of the year against the angry, cold and heavy hands of winter which clutch at the city of Philadelphia for seven months each year.
The silence descending atop these islands is like a warm morning fog undisturbed by bridges and expressways filled with the low frequency noise of freight on its way to market. Silence here has no real price and thus, no market value.
Looking down at Coral Bay from the screened-in porch of a house precariously perched – in complete defiance of gravity, I might say – along the steep incline of Bordeaux Mountain is quite impressive.
One minute I am reminded of looking down onto the green mountainous islands and peninsulas in the San Francisco Bay from high atop Mount Tamalpais in Marin county. The next minute reminds me of the expansive vista of green mountains unfurling beneath me from the peak of Bolt Mountain in southern West Virginia. Both are equally meaningful and beautiful to me at this point in life.
If this is the worst life confusion I have to face before I am gone, I am okay with that. But we are trying to develop a path going forward with my additional leukemia diagnosis on top of the HNT cancer we thought we had tackled and rose victorious over.
Pat’s or Genos’? That is the Philadelphia question.
Slow or slower, that is the St. John question. Exit 0.