North

Here in the far up, far away.

Saw 4 places yesterday. Two of interest, one has a soul.

The one spot with the soul. It needs work. Work that I am not sure I could shoulder.

Beams, and water and electrical.

But the sun shines just right and there is long history there.

Bamboo lines the boundary so much like my childhood home. Rooms have good sun and shade.

There is elbow room and place for gardens and patio.

Place for guests.

It is quiet here. The buzz of population doesn’t exist.

Fashion and flash are muted.

There is a seriousness and sorrow. Nothing painted as if Caribbean. No margaritaville wannabes that have overrun my hometown.

No posh eateries serving small plates for yoga moms and soft handed dads.

New England austerity is strong here.

There is a mellow seriousness.

People surviving.

The drive up is horrendous at my age, alone, but once I get here — around an hour after arrival, the exhaustion wears off and I am glad I have come.

The bathroom mirror at the rental, after my shower, the decay of my body undeniable in reflection.

Angles I have long not looked at. A weakness new in my shins and under my arms.