Ahead lie the purple headlands, sea mist, waters hiding legendary shipwrecks. Over the causeway, hundreds of bald eagles soar: a sight to last a lifetime. I watch their white heads flash in the slanting sunlight for a while, then continue my drive on the back roads, not knowing which Last Gasp Motel or Trucker’s Haven will shelter me tonight. On either side, the forest endlessly extends. Heavy rain. I can hardly see where I’m going. Does anyone live here? Where are the fiddlers and fishermen? The whole island seems abandoned. Suddenly, barriers.
a yellow-slickered woman
holds up a stop sign