I’m on holiday tamping down fast time on an island. On the ferry over Art and I stood first outside listening to the engine rumble, watching the bow cut the waves and the cormorants slide back and forth with fish and nesting material in their mouths. Wandering back inside to the relatively empty lounge, the slower island time began to reset my clock. Sitting awhile, I noticed the windows with their reflection of people seemingly in the water, silhouettes with island sun hats.
And disrupting the usual arrangement of rows of chairs, someone unhinged to the norm and instead operating on island vision arranged chairs in a less formal snake formation.
Here anything will begin to rust. A ferry. You. Sit long enough and your intentions rust. You will begin to forget that time is important. Art and I sat on the deck at our island lodging the first evening. An hour. Two. Three. Then at around 9 in the evening the sun went down.
The sun even broke the rules, here on the island, making a square reflection of its round bottom. Impossible? Not under island rules.
Bathroom doors sprout faces entertaining you while you sit. Or if the door slides open the bay view will entertain you. Sit awhile.
What it you were to get lost? An island would be a great place to become disoriented. Any direction that you might go would eventually lead you back to the beaches. And this island, should you mistakenly climb up the tallest mountain, you would find a compass to reset you.
And there are mysterious messages carved on tower windows for you to contemplate. Sit awhile.
Dogs greet you on the beaches, detour you from you plans and ask you to throw sticks for them. You pause and you do here on island warp time. Here on Orcas.