" I sat on a weathered wood bench and gazed out at a sea of blue--peacock, sapphire, teal and every other shade in a Crayola 64 [crayons] box. From my vantage point high on a hill, I saw nothing remotely connected with civilization. No people. No houses. No electrical wires. No cola cans. Just rugged green volcanic hills to punctuate all those blues. Behind me, the overgrown dirt trail I had walked poked bravely through dense tropical foliage. the air, which had felt heavy and humid on the trail, was now a sweet breeze that caressed my bare legs. The sensation was doubly pleasing because it was December. This, I thought, is why people come to the Caribbean... I was on the island of St. John, the prettiest and least spoiled of the United Stated Virgin Islands."
