Block Island

Almost every year I head to Block Island for at least a few days. It's a pilgrimage of sorts and I usually go alone. This year a friend joined me for my last day there. My friend lives in Tortola (British Virgin Islands) part of the year. Most of that island was completely devastated by Hurricane Irma. My friend knew that his house on Tortola had been destroyed but while on Block Island he received photos of his house via email. That is, what was left of it. Not much. Those pictures painted the harsh reality. Terribly sad. Words failed me.

That evening we walked to a quiet bar overlooking the sea. He read me this poem.


The Art Of Losing

BY ELIZABETH BISHOP

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

A 10 mile round trip bike ride to an almost completey deserted beach. Incredibly foggy. I was mesmerized. Huge waves lingering from Tropical Storm Jose. Fog lifted. An unusually hot September day. Like the summer we never had. I was in and out of the ocean. Ah, the salt air. Perfect beach day.