“Welcome to the Point Market,” – he says with a heavy East Indian accent. The man with the turban who just so happens to own the market on the corner where everyone goes when they’ve forgotten anything.
We smile. We beam.
“He is light,” my sister asserts.
He totally is.
I love coming into this market. This community place where people rush in and out, gather outside to visit over the take of the day in the harbor, skateboard across the wide swath of sidewalk, talk to family as they head to the deli or the diner or the market where life happens in walks & talks at this small but powerful coastal town.
Sun shines longer today – on this spring ahead once-a-year day. Rain visits, just for twenty minutes and washes us clean again. Waves roll in. Seagulls fly and cry into the sky of blue and white pillow clouds drifting past with the winds that whip and whoosh. We call it hurricane gulch. There’s a reason for that. Sailboats make circles in the sea just outside the break wall. Another otherworldly day in this treasure of a town.
So many men full of light like the one at the market. So many beautiful people from myriad places. So many soul rich children and heart strong women make up this place we call home. Home because we live here. Home because we belong. Home because we create lives rich and full and bursting with what’s to be and where we’ve been.