pulling in to port. a sort of gnawing sensation slips under my navel, and grows over the evening that ensues. The first night, we take a bus along an edge of the island, skirting the mountains, which shoot up menacingly besides us. My mind ranges from the soft-soled running shoes in the butt of my backpack to the ominous clouds squatting over the mountainous mounds. No one speaks much, and the question is hanging about all of us. Can we do this?


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s