We just got back from a week sailing by Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, including the island of Bequia, with two main streets — Front Street and Back Street. A quiet, slow and lush island with elaborate, even stately bureaucracy to deliver the many stamps and documentsneeded for a night’s stay in the beautiful bay. “Bequian” seems a useful adjective.
Now back in Tennessee where it is cold and gray and still there are leaves to rake, as there will be until spring. In the meditative state that endless raking engenders, I was thinking that raking is like editing. You do it and do it, and perhaps the raker sees some progress — many leaves moved from here to there, but to the outsider little may seem different. The yard is still messy. Until one day it is not.
Pamela Schoenewaldt, historical novels of immigration and the search for self in new worlds: WHEN WE WERE STRANGERS, SWIMMING IN THE MOON, and UNDER THE SAME BLUE SKY (all HarperCollins).
pamelaschoenewaldt.com 
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