I thrive on the isle of Manhattan. Amid skyscrapers and millions of people, it’s easy to forget ones on an island, surrounded by water on all sides. Four hundred years ago, pristine forestland colored the terrain. Now, sprawling forest no longer, towering skyscrapers and people of all nationalities call this island home. A melting pot of cultures, a mecca for international commerce, it has an appeal for everyone. When I grow weary and disenchanted, I long to escape the isle of Manhattan for a balmier one.
A lovely stretch of sand, turquoise water, a slight breeze rustling through palm trees, and the only noise—waves lapping onshore. A piece of heaven for sure. Maybe I’ll find my biblical Eve and saunter nude into the sea. Or perhaps I’ll relax in a hammock with a good book and doze in the shade of palm trees. But, I know soon, I’ll grow restless. I’ll miss the island that never sleeps. Boredom will lure me home. Steeped in sun, sand, and ocean, I’ll carry a piece of tranquility to the concrete jungle until Caribbean dreams summon me again.