I feel myself walking in my father's footsteps wherever I go, here. Everything about this island makes me think of him, and I imagine the days he spent here. Is this the same railing he leaned against as he stared out into the sunset? Are these the same waves that came in to greet him as he stood in the sand? Are these the roads he travelled, careening across the island on his Harley?
It doesn't surprise me that he loved it here. His personality is in the wistful cadence of the waves, the quiet steady heartbeat of the towns, the strength of the trade winds. Perhaps he found respite during these trips, a reminder that there exists a perfect and beautiful world somewhere beyond the sea.
But his mind never strayed far from home, and as I struggle to surrender to this so-called vacation, I realize - neither does mine.