Terns of the TIDE
I am conspicuously alone here
Sunrise in Antigua is showtime.
It’s almost as if a giant spotlight is flicked on by a celestial finger, spreading rays out across the sea like a warm promise of the day’s possibilities. At the shore, the terns bob and dip like mini roadrunners. I feel myself smiling as I watch them.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so calm. Which, under the circumstances, is surprising.
‘Hi, honey. How you doing today?’
She’s one of a group of swimmers I see every early morning. I assume they’re local pensioners and they spend as much time laughing as swimming. I love to watch them.
‘You still smiling at them birds?’
The woman chuckles and tips her head to one side. She’s wearing what looks like a frilly shower cap.
‘They sure is cheeky – they’ll trample right over your toes if you stand still long enough.’
‘They make me laugh.’
‘And me! I’m Celeste, honey.’ She sticks out a hand. I take it, damp
