August 15--Prickly Pear, BVI. Vera realized that she had been following a single trail of footprints in the otherwise smooth sand. The only sound was the high, raucous laughter of the gulls diving into the waves and she hadn't seen anyone since she left the beach party. It had been a fun but overwhelming week on the four-masted schooner Polynesia. Most of the passengers were thirty-something couples, and singles looking to couple if only for a night or two. Vera wasn't anywhere near her thirties anymore. Her forties were a memory and in a little more than a year her fifties would be behind her too. She had a lot of life left to experience. It had been a year since Vance had left her and she was sure she wouldn't be taking applications for a replacement anytime soon. Her kids thought she'd need more company but she sort of liked the silence. Around the point she was on the windward side of the little island and there was the maker of the footprints she had been unconsciously following. He wasn't tall but not short either, had gray hair, and was comfortably built. She slowed since she had left the party behind for a bit of solitude, but decided to keep walking and keep quiet. He stood in the edge of the sea gazing off to the horizon and as she passed behind him he spoke, "It's better with the wind in your face." She stopped and looked at him. "What is?" she asked despite herself. He smiled at her out of the corner of his eye. "Life."
Well, that's got possibilities. Are you writing?