The sea is the ultimate democracy, the ultimate fact. It accepts all, it is all. Birth, death, beauty, violence, peace, tragedy. It is the Sirens, Magellan, Melville, Cousteau. Santa Maria, Titanic, Spray, U-2 boat. It is dolphin, shark, coral. It is music, pleasure, infinity. It is blue, the truest thing we know. A child always colors the sea blue. The earth will be sea again one day.

The bright white hacienda-like villa spreads across the hill behind a long railing of balustrades. Built in 1960, it’s light- filled and, if now a little rough around the edges, has a lot of character.  We love the setting, both wild and quiet. It faces a broad canvas of sea painted in a variety of blues by Homer or Monet, take your pick. Clouds swim in the sky, snatches of white cotton, scrims of Tiepolo pink when the sun sets, piles of rain laden gray. The islands of Nevis and St. Eustache (and occasionally St. Kitts) are pale phantasms on clear days. A few houses dot the surrounding hillsides of cactus and windblown trees. The hills drop precipitously into the lapping sea. We hear the waves. Gouverneur beach is a seven-minute walk down a steep road.

I have a small glass of rhum vieux from Martinique. It’s dark and smooth and perfectly of the place, of “le terroir Caraibe.”

Day eases into night quiet as a cat. The air is soft and cool, the light ethereal. Clouds gray in the violet sky. I stand alone on the terrace, looking out at the darkening mountains, faint stars, lamp light in the valley. What’s the word? It’s more than peaceful. Something not often felt that always catches you by surprise. It’s contentment. When outside aligns with inside.

The island is a place to read, the sun a lamp, the beach a big bed. Wendy devours three books in a week. She keeps a running list of titles. Now it’s Andorra by Peter Cameron. Sarah is reading My Russian Love. David, a junior in college, is reading Crime and Punishment. One morning  on the way to Gustavia in the Jeep he goes into great detail about the murder. “You’re the only person on the island reading Dostoyevsky.”