An Island Unto Himself (part 1)

The road was little more than a narrow dirt track through the jungle.  The jungle was slowly reclaiming it.  The broad leaves, wet from a morning shower, dripped down  over weed covered gravel.  It was just another forgotten trail leading off the main road that circled the sleepy volcanic island.

A lone man pushed his way through the overgrown path working his way slowly down a path he hadn't seen in twenty years.  He had one purpose in mind, to reach the sea.  The island was fairly round with a deep harbor carved out of one side and a circle of coral protecting the sandy beaches that lined the rocky shores. 

The man was on the opposite side of the island, his goal, a weathered old house sitting on a bluff above a smaller inlet.  He could smell the salt on the air, a fragrance that washed the harsh chemical smells of institutional living from his very soul.

He breathed deeply of the fresh moist air.  The morning shower had washed the air and soon the sun would heat up the soil and draw that moisture back to only dump it again in a heavy afternoon rain.  He couldn't wait to feel the heavy rain on his sun starved skin.

The man was tall, lanky, underweight.  His skin was pale from being indoors most of the last twenty years.  He labored from the exertion he wasn't use to and hungered for manual labor to build his work starved muscles.  His hair was dark brown and long, laying over his shoulders.  His brown eyes flashed with emotion as he took in the sad decay of what once was his home.  He was back and determined to remake what was left of his life.

He made it to the end of the trail and the jungle opened up to weed choked clearing.  Here the jungle had also started to reclaim.  Trees encroached toward a dilapidated low-built cabin nestled near the edge of the cliff.  The wooden porch, that had once circled the cabin was rotted and caved in in several places.  Vines climbed the log walls and hid most the cabin from view.  It was a sad sight, testimony of the long years of neglect.

The man walked around the building lovingly touching worm eaten railings and carefully climbed sagging steps to the door.  It would all have to go.  The whole porch was a loss, but he had expected no less.  Twenty years was a longtime without care.  He should know.

The insides had faired better.  The doors had held and no animals had gotten inside.  That was testament to the strong walls and doors he had build with his own hands.  The furniture was sheet covered and looked like ghosts waiting for somebody to haunt.

He retreated from the house and strolled determinedly to the edge of the bluff.  Looking out over the small bay the intruded ever so slightly inland.  A white pristine sandy beach lined the shore.  The waves slapped lightly at the shore in opposition to the turbulence that crashed in his blood.

He traced the path cut down the cliff to the beach.  He slowly stolid along the soft wet sand stepping over wads of seaweed and piles of drift wood.  The driftwood would come in handy for his craft.  He finally reached a natural jetty reaching out into the sea.  during his walk the sky had changed from warm sun to cool clouds.  They roiled in the sky rushing to meet him as he made his way out to the end of the rocky protrusion.  The wind stepped up and the once soft slapping waves were now white-capped and angry.  It was as if the very sea knew there was an interloper on its land and was trying to wash him away.

By the time the man made it to the end stinging rain was lashing his skin.  It felt good to feel it pummeling his body.  He relished the sting, the sensation of nature touching him.  He had hungered to feel the rain, sun and just plain nature on his body.

He lift his head to stare the storm in its face.  He shook his fist at it daring it to try and chase him away.  He had been taken away once but now he was back and not even the fury of nature itself would get rid of him this time.