Eleuthera, in the Bahamas. The air is soft and warm and feels like lotion washing over your skin. During the day, I would walk on the beach, pick up shells, do a bit of snorkeling, eat jelly coconut and fresh grouper, nap all afternoon. At night, I would visit French Leave or Potlatch, drink LaPhroig, argue economics and politics with the expats, play a few tunes, maybe get friendly and neck with the resident poet laureate. Then I would sleep in an open cabana, the hibiscus and lush vegetation creating a musty, heady scent.

The year was 1967 and I, too, was 19. There was magic attached to being 19.

moonjen