No man is an island or so they say. But then the same ‘they’also say that it’s not the end of the world.
Here's my end of the world. Sometimes I come here looking for something lost; the muse that’s eluded me for quite a while now. A trip to the old places trying to find the me that used to be able to see the beauty even when that beauty was hiding away not really wanting to be found. This island place where once thousands came seeking whatever it was they were looking for: a blessing from a Pope, a magic apple, the call of a mermaid, a gust of wind to blow their cares out and their hopes back in.
This Tuesday morning, after a restless night, the wind at the end of the world blew at the aches and pains of a man not yet old but getting older with every step taken. The mountain was steeper that I remembered and my knee didn’t do much to help, aching and throbbing as I pressed on. At the edge of the drop I stood taking it all in and was filled with, not the exultation that I had expected, but a dull sense of emptiness. I don’t know why, nothing had changed. Perhaps it was the weather or a bit of undigested beef, or perhaps something had changed after all. After all, no man is an island.