Charles Jensen | Writer

Before dawn, the crashing waves popped like fireworks, snapping and fizzing out into raucous birdsong that ultimately woke us. Then, a leaf blower. Then coffee. The beach rolled out ahead of us, as soft as Berber carpet, and we laid upon it while the sun, like a god, made us bronze. Near sunset we scaled the craggy rocks that broke the beach in two and, for a little while, observed the human animal in its habitat au naturel. When we snorkeled, we saw a single fish-it was alone, skimming along the scalloped seafloor, its body so clear you could see right through it. It wasn’t any kind of metaphor-I assured you of that, and as the sun fell behind the island, I memorized your face in its honey glow.