The lovely K.M. writes in response to a previous post:
When you lived in a small town, they told you it was an island. And perhaps it was. So, you stopped worrying about minor things like dandelions and made a B-line for the mainland. They insisted you take the charter boat over. You thought how you would’ve preferred to swim.
On the mainland, eating unblemished tomatoes in January is important. So are risky capital ventures and an unwavering belief that there should be 30 hours in a day. Why should they care that the forest is quietest right before it storms? Those things don’t matter to them. Why would they brave the blackberry brambles for tonight’s pie? Those ideas are irrelevant here.
And so —
This, you’ve found, is how the world works.
But some mornings, while the world is working, you clamber down to the water’s edge, take off your clothes, and backstroke home.