Archipelago

I have taken up solid anchorage in an archipelago of islands.

One of them is the island where I found some steady employ as a labourer. The weather is predominantly fair, though sudden storms can erupt, and the landscape is as pleasant as any I have surveyed. The people are friendly... perhaps overly so. Indeed, it is their welcoming stance that gives me pause. It is odd that a fugitive would find an overabundance of welcome to be off-putting, but it is true. They give every indication that there is room for residence on their island, and react with ill-concealed dismay when I pole away. They do, to their credit, make an effort to conceal the dismay, but they fail. This has begun to make my stays there uncomfortable.

Another is an island I had been unaware of for some time. Its townspeople are proud, and distant, but the island itself is lusher and greener than any I know. When I am able to engage a local in conversation, they speak with considerable intelligence and culture, and I note the grace with which local affairs are conducted.

Yet a third is an island where I have spent much time, where I have friends and business contacts that go back many years. My comfort with them and their families would mean that if a small place, a cottage or apartment in town, became available, I would think myself a fool for turning it down.

And there are others, to be sure. Each picturesque in its own way.