Early island mornings are always lazy. Groans and yawns echo as the sun creeps up.Gas stoves are sparked, pancakes and bagel complement the ocean view. Bathing need not apply here.Sailors watch the sky and waves, eyes gleaming with anticipation of that perfect breeze. Old salts baittheir hooks and exchange fish stories. Children gather in alliance and betrayals to be forgotten the next day.Lobstermen laugh over coffee and the occasional shot of something stronger.

The day starts whenit's already half over, the sun reaching its summit in the clear sky. Mainsails are raised and the jibs set.Nothing but mackerel is ever caught. The beaches are clustered and dominated by fierce groups of youngwarriors. Traps are hauled from the deep, laden with clawed rewards. Bikinis find their way to the frontlawns, or the occasional rocky beach; the sun attacks white skin. Birds watch for an unsuspecting meal. Theweak islanders quit early, grabbing a late meal, while most wait until the water turns black with the shadebefore heading to port.

The sun begins to descend and, at the halfway point, sailors stow sails andlines. Old men take home the catch. Children return home, battered and bruised, sides still aching with thememory of laughter. Books are opened and chairs occupied as the sun continues its descent; ovens begin toheat and water boils. Before long the sweet scent of dinner fills the air; the growl of hunger drifts upon theocean breeze.

The sun perches upon the mainland pines, round and red; stars begin to showthemselves as dinner is served. Fireplaces crackle and roar, smoke rising into the deep crimsonatmosphere. Birds settle down and sing as island families join together in aromatic kitchens. With a clatterfood hits the plate, compliments to the cook are common. Sailors swap swashbuckling tales of storms,idiocy and piracy. Old salts remember when, that time so long ago, making eyes widen with their tales.Children challenge and squabble - girls are always better than boys, right, Mom? Lobstermen thank thepowers that be for another day's catch, and for more to come. Before long the dishes are silent, thesilverware put in its place, stomachs are bulging. Drinks all around.

Laughter fades as tablesempty, the sun half hidden behind the mainland treetops. Couples gather in favorite spots, cherishing theview within each other's embrace, hearts racing and minds swirling. Old, tired feet are propped beforeblazing brick fireplaces, worn pages of old books reread. Flashlight wars commence, somewhere a bottle isspinning. Radios foretell the weather, hopes rise and fall with the forecast.

Moonlight reigns overall as the island sleeps. Wishes upon stars drift across the salty waves, mingled with snores and lovers' hotbreath. Dreams are plentiful within the pillow-nested heads. Dreams of days far gone, and more to come.1Early island mornings are always lazy. Groans and yawns echo as the sun creeps up. Gas stoves aresparked, pancakes and bagel complement the ocean view. Bathing need not apply here. Sailors watch the skyand waves, eyes gleaming with anticipation of that perfect breeze. Old salts bait their hooks and exchangefish stories. Children gather in alliance and betrayals to be forgotten the next day. Lobstermen laugh overcoffee and the occasional shot of something stronger.

The day starts when it's already half over,the sun reaching its summit in the clear sky. Mainsails are raised and the jibs set. Nothing but mackerel isever caught. The beaches are clustered and dominated by fierce groups of young warriors. Traps are hauledfrom the deep, laden with clawed rewards. Bikinis find their way to the front lawns, or the occasionalrocky beach; the sun attacks white skin. Birds watch for an unsuspecting meal. The weak islanders quitearly, grabbing a late meal, while most wait until the water turns black with the shade before heading toport.

The sun begins to descend and, at the halfway point, sailors stow sails and lines. Old mentake home the catch. Children return home, battered and bruised, sides still aching with the memory oflaughter. Books are opened and chairs occupied as the sun continues its descent; ovens begin to heat andwater boils. Before long the sweet scent of dinner fills the air; the growl of hunger drifts upon the oceanbreeze.

The sun perches upon the mainland pines, round and red; stars begin to show themselves asdinner is served. Fireplaces crackle and roar, smoke rising into the deep crimson atmosphere. Birds settledown and sing as island families join together in aromatic kitchens. With a clatter food hits the plate,compliments to the cook are common. Sailors swap swashbuckling tales of storms, idiocy and piracy. Oldsalts remember when, that time so long ago, making eyes widen with their tales. Children challenge andsquabble - girls are always better than boys, right, Mom? Lobstermen thank the powers that be for anotherday's catch, and for more to come. Before long the dishes are silent, the silverware put in its place,stomachs are bulging. Drinks all around.

Laughter fades as tables empty, the sun half hidden behindthe mainland treetops. Couples gather in favorite spots, cherishing the view within each other's embrace,hearts racing and minds swirling. Old, tired feet are propped before blazing brick fireplaces, worn pages ofold books reread. Flashlight wars commence, somewhere a bottle is spinning. Radios foretell the weather,hopes rise and fall with the forecast.

Moonlight reigns over all as the island sleeps. Wishes uponstars drift across the salty waves, mingled with snores and lovers' hot breath. Dreams are plentiful withinthe pillow-nested heads. Dreams of days far gone, and more to come.