I am truly alive.

I’m sitting on a sand dune on the Porto Pino beach, facing away from the Mediterranean Sea. Looking toward a thick row of bent-by-the-wind-shaped stalwart pine trees. And I’m listening to the rolling surf. And my true love is roaming the beach. Picking up stones and pebbles and seashells. To scatter atop the grave of her father Giuseppe. He died in 1977. Of a stroke. At age 57. Her mother Lucia died last August. Age 86. She’s entombed separately from Giuseppe in the Catholic cemetery in Carbonia. In 5 years, their remains will be united in a common grave. My true love visits the cemetery every Sunday. To put fresh flowers on the graves. I see my true love now. She’s ambling down the beach. Maybe 500 meters away. Still collecting her little treasures. She’s carrying a blue plastic bag. And her maroon purse, which I jokingly call a saddlebag. I suppose I should go and assist her. But I’m transfixed here. Mesmerized by the sound of the surf and the scenic beauty and by the comfortable balmy temperature. I’m guessing 60 degrees. Imagine that. On Jan. 30. The sky is half full of bulging cumulus clouds. An hour ago, we had a rain shower. But it didn’t last long. We sat it out in our little Fiat. Observing a rainbow. Faint at first. And then becoming more vivid. Now my true love has become a distant speck. And I am marveling at the peace and tranquility of the afternoon. It’s 3:40 p.m. Maybe 2 1/2 more hours of daylight. And I am about to close my eyes. And thank gawd for bringing me here. To Sardinia. I never dreamed I’d be here. I am in Paradise. And I haven’t even died. I am truly alive. –Jim Broede