The Island Assignment | Part 2
Anna squatted down and heaved the last plastic tub of goods from the beach, taking it up the path to the house. She kicked the unlatched door with the toe of her shoe and set the box down just inside the entrance. The tide behind her had turned and now lapped back up the beach inch by inch and with the sun sitting low, she made quick work of getting the house's basic needs ready before dark.
Pulling a chunky sweater over her thin, long-sleeve layer she got to work, making her way around the outside of the house, opening the storm shutters one by one to let in the last bit of light. Next, she loaded her arms with a bundle of firewood from the shed and got the fire crackling within minutes. Oil lanterns already strategically placed around the small rooms were lit and just as the last bit of sun-rays dipped into the ocean, she opened one of her prized cans of beer and took it out with her to sit on the rocks.
She hugged her knees. She watched the steady rhythm of the waves. She studied the stout, stone lighthouse that now ran automatically. Shapeshifting puffy clouds moved north, and shorebirds settled in for the night. That was her cue to do the same.
Back in the kitchen, she struck a wooden match on the box, lit the small firebox of tender for the cook-stove and placed a small pan on the cast iron burner. Rummaging through the food bins, she found a can of chicken orzo soup and a box of saltine crackers and set aside a fresh apple she'd slice and drizzle with honey for dessert. With the soup simmering, Anna hummed to herself as she methodically put away her belongings in cupboards and shelves and drawers. Things began to feel like home.
Her friends worried she'd be lonely during her three-month stint on the island - how would she fare all by herself? But she had her stack of unread books and the gulls to keep her company - she had the ocean and storms to keep her in awe and enough food to last her plenty longer than needed. She was ready for this incredible experience; to document nature and to slow her thoughts - where quick hours melted into slow days.
Photo by me. Story is fictional.