Another tempest recedes. Eternally grateful for this new sandy shore. Eyes blinking from the light. Unable to determine light from the day. Everything rearranged, everything new. Work until the day is through.

The watch is gone, unneeded at time. We are working on Island Time. If things work out, it’s all good. Failure doesn’t matter, the party continues, stay happy. It’s Island Time.

Why is there an alarm for island time? Relax, all the time is island time. Earlier to rise and later to bed. It’s just a means to more island time.

Contemplating the sandy shore, I realize it is nothing but more. As I look around I wonder how I arrived. A tempest formed from the calm analysis of the day. I look for a ship, I want to get off.

I need to build a dock, yet all the time is gone. Gone to the island, where nothing really matters. I want my eggs to be sunny side up, yet they are scrambled. I dream of a golden yacht, coming to waft me away.