We are here, checked in, took a walk, ate a late breakfast, and now we're settling down to write. It's a gorgeous chilly day with a few white clouds in the blue blue sky and the wind's whipping over the lake and down the river. Lovely.
March 25--Shoal Bay, Anguilla. It wasn't the same. The years had not been kind to the beach, Diana thought as she stood in the sand. The first time she had stood on the spot there was one condo building to the right and two bamboo, raw 2 X 4, and palm frond thatched beach bars to the left. The water had been the same vivid turquoise and the sea grapes had sighed and clattered in the wind just as they did today. But the building boom had come to the long white stretch of beach and the sounds of vacationers resounded from every side. The fleet of skiffs moored off the beach, all with their bows turned into the wind, reminded her of horses waiting to run, eager to display their speed, to jump over the waves.
I learned something last night when faced with a familiar place's picture; it's hard to make something up about a place you know. Reality gets in the way.