They are always there, the airplanes. At first I didn't pay attention, but now I cannot ignore them. Every day they come and they go, bringing people from the furthest reaches of the world to this remote yet busy little island. Flying machines, marvels of the modern world.
As I sit here, I notice the sound of the planes before I see them. A small aircraft resembling a larger version of a child's toy flies in and out of my field of vision, making lazy loops and turns as a pilot finds his wings. In the distance, a large jet prepares for landing as another takes off into the cloudy haze, bound for anywhere.
I am keenly aware of the world beyond this little speck of land. There is so much beyond this shoreline that it is a wonder some people choose to spend their whole lives in one place. As the ocean stretches in front of me in shades of blue, vast and endless as the sky, I feel the familiar tug of wanderlust welling up inside.
I am sitting in the midst of a postcard, but it is not what I see. Before my eyes flicker images of snow-covered trees and leaves that look like fire. Rolling fields in deep shades of green. Wild ocean held back only by rocky cliffs. A collage of places I have been.
When the memories have given way, my imagination conjures up pictures of places that I have only seen in photos and words. Snow-capped mountains, tall and majestic and ancient. Lakes like mirrors and rocks in every type of red. Ribbons of light parading through the sky. Natural wonders of creation that speak of an Artist with no limitations.
I look above me. The plane is gone. Here I am again, on my little patch of island, waiting in the tension between contentment and curiosity. Will I ever see and touch and experience those other worlds that lie somewhere under the sky above me?
Only God knows.
Maddie is the creator and editor of The Thalassofiles. Her background is in marine biology, and she has a not-so-secret desire to embrace limitations, immerse herself in the great outdoors, and try new things. And then write about it.