Island

The mountains are guardians watching over the small island. As the rusty bikes trundle over the old dirt road, birds sing in a choir filling the morning air with their music. Although the island is small, wildlife rushes from every bit of it, fish fly through the crystal-clear water and animals trudge through the thick bushland.

I can see the trees waving down at all the kids walking to their little school in the centre of the village. I can hear the wind whistling to the birds' beautiful choir. I can smell the salty air drifting through the island. I can feel the dry crusty sand road on my bare feet. I can taste the slightly salty water from my tap back at the cabin.