Islands have always fascinated me. Something about this little piece of land surrounded by ocean, or lake, or even river. I love water. I love to be on it, surrounded by it, on its shores, to hear it, to breath its air, just not to be in it. An island has always captured me largely for this very reason, an oasis peaking up out of the water...
[alembic] ...You could reinvent yourself on island, or so goes the siren call from the waves, and I tried that once, many years ago on Oahu, in Hawaii. Freshly out of one university, I flew to Honolulu to join my cousin who had been staying at The Ilikai for some time, herself having tried many other islands from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic to the Pacific before she alit on Oahu in her quest for a suitable, and endurable, identity.
[P:Island/Connections] We are all islands, so it may be that we love them because we identify with them. (John Donne had it wrong, but he was trying to make a different point. Decide for yourself when you put yourself to sleep tonight) ...
[Feathers of Hope (Numenius)] Almost every day during my eight-year sojourn in Santa Barbara, I would glance seaward at Santa Cruz Island, about twenty miles off the coast.
[Mulubinba Moments] The Isle of Avalon
[Laughing~Knees] From a jet plane the Earth sits under the hard mirror of the sky. The Sun glares down, its one unblinking eye pitiless with power, seeing all, the vast film of water, air and rock. Indifference beats upon any harborer of precious fluids, hissing admonishments to turn tail and burrow into the nearest cleft. To a watcher in space the blue marble of the planet might at first seem stillborn, but if it watches carefully the swirling surface would give away the secret: like milk roiling in a cup of coffee clouds belie both a boiling heart and a mind fanning the idea of regeneration. The clouds themselves would give birth, like whales in an ocean of air.
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