Urban Escapes

The boat had that Sunday morning feel about it, smelled of coffee, not much talking. Not much of anything, it was mostly me and the German tourists. I sat in the windy sunshine and read my book, passed century-old summer houses in the archipelago before we slowed down and entered the Stockholm harbor. Here it is, here is my city, I thought, My brand new city all to myself and I wondered if it had missed me when I certainly had missed it. Weeks on that island, in such a paradise of warm sunshine, ocean suds, fiery dusk and endless wine, I felt ungrateful to long for streets, but it could not be helped.

We finished brunch at the one spot in town that was not vacation vacant and walked out onto scorching streets, strolled through antique shops and giggling at the stories that caught us up. The concrete underneath my feet soothed me, the friendly voice and familiar streets. I reassured myself that we were in no hurry; when the summer ends, I will have months yet in which to overindulge in them, friends and streets alike. I have had that feeling before. When New York was truly new and the entire adventure lay ahead.

How quickly I tear out the pages that came before. How eager to land on unwritten sheets.