prelude

It's been nearly a month since I arrived, even though it doesn't seem that long. At first I thought there was something different about the place, but I think I'm probably the thing that has changed.

It doesn't matter, I'm having a wonderful time and it's another beautiful day. A few high clouds, not much wind or humidity, warm water, soft sand.

I could stay forever if I wanted. Still, there is much in the world beyond my little paradise that I would like to see, so before long I'll be on my way.

I may as well, there's nothing I can do about what happened except to talk about it. I've been encouraged to tell the story in my own words, but I have mixed feelings about whether or not I should do that. As it stands, I'm blessed with the ideal measure of celebrity, in that my role and my associations accord me a degree of respect, while my face is not easily recognized. This status without fame tends to encourage the people I meet to regard me favorably, without attracting the attention of strangers.

It's a rare balance and I'm reluctant to do anything that might change it. But the story seems to want the telling, and I suppose I have a responsibility to share it.

As I sit here now, with my feet in the sand, gazing out over the lagoon as a gentle surf breaks onto the beach and a warm breeze plays over my face, those events seem worlds away.

Once the sun sets it will be different. Night is the dark beacon of what is to come.

This is how it happened.