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.