I am connected to the place where I live by heartstrings and dreamy childhood memories. What was once a summer place is now home to me. I wake each morning to the, always thought provoking,  sunrise across the Narragansett Bay. On a clear morning, bright orange light washes my cozy little house with warmth and affection. As I sip my sweet, creamed coffee, I remember. This is the place where I skipped silvery, flat rocks with my grandfather on a sandy beach, learned to swim in the swift currents of the bay, and to ride my bike without training wheels on a bumpy, dirt road. This is the place, where as a child, I found the courage inside myself to jump off the pier with the big kids, where I listened to my grandmother tell us her  stories of the hurricane of 38 over and over again, where I walked the beaches with her searching for perfect little seashells   and  sea glass in softened pastels. The place where I sat on the rocks and ate  clam cakes out of grease stained brown paper bags. I spent hours here on the rocky shores, with my brother, catching skip jacks and hermit crabs, in red plastic buckets, only to release them again at the end of the day. This is the same place that I met my first best friend, had my first sweet kiss, and felt my first broken heart.

This beautiful, quiet island, of innocence and childhood memories, is now a place of bright new beginnings. I had left Prudence for a time in my life, always feeling her gentle pull coaxing me back to the safety of her shores. I finally did return, with children in tow, my car loaded with plastic buckets and bicycles, hoping Prudence could  give to them the same gifts of simple beauty she had bestowed upon me. While I stand in my window, recalling the stories of my life, a tug boat pushes a barge to its final destination across the bay and wind chimes are playing their soft melody on the gentle breeze. I hear my boys rustling in their beds, waking to a new day full promise and adventure.