When we get down to the beach they know instantly that this is the spot. Just in time, the guests start arriving in Hania the next day. We drive through the olive groves. A shepherd pulls his sheep off the road with one whistle to his dog. While Ned and Elizabeth negotiate with the owners of the Taverna for a lamb, octopus, and calimari, Ashley and I sit on a wall looking out over the waves as they roll and break.
Every drop of water seems exactly in the right place.
It reminds me of our time as roommates at CU, when the big ideas seemed so new. We talked about Aristotelian Ethics over enormous spaghetti dinners, sauce cooking for hours in an iron skillet. After a few weeks the strings had hardened into a weird, postmodern sculpture that would light up when you flipped a switch. I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now.