Martha dearest: I know, I know. I left you cold and now I’m back, leaning on your sweet shoulders.

We’ve been dancing for decades, you and I, and it’s the rhythms of your Mays and early Junes, your Septembers and early Octobers, that move me most. It’s a combination of surround and sound, of season and reason, that is hard to beat. The best of you without the rest of you.

In fact, early fall and late spring — your most versatile, easy-going, embraceable days — still resonate with shades of the old, quieter, softer Vineyard. Your strands, your streets, your bistro seats are uncrowded and welcoming, with infrequent tourists or travelers adding a tolerable touch of mainland. You harbor us like lingering lovers in the seductive, kaleidoscopic color of your seaside sky, so often brushing our cheeks with salty breezes of 60 and 70 degrees. The sway of your every horizon is like an old friend smiling from her porch, inviting us to look up and out, to smile back in gratitude.

Not least, with your magnetic solitude and social fluency, it’s as easy to stroll solo as to indulge in your ever eclectic mix of visitors and year-rounders. Your nonconformity enhances ours, otherwise why would we get along so well?

This latest Indian summer, from your morning glory to your evening virtuosos of sun and light, has been truly joyful. I worked on The Humanity Initiative’s Revolution of Peace, walked your Atlantic shore on pacific days, lingered with pals proven and new — most memorably, perhaps, as sole attendant (and photographer) for two off-Island friends as they married in late September at the Edgartown lighthouse, a wedding whose rare simplicity utterly magnified the moment.

Ah, Martha, ours is an enduring if ever unanchored affair. On each return, I’ve stayed in guest rooms, accepted the generous loan of a home, or rented a cabin — not committing to anything more than love and friendship, to revisiting memories (though often slow to match passing face with resident name).

But every visit, twice a year, resonates with a permanence of heart. After all, as I wrote in my leaving-you letter two years ago, your charms are inescapable. They also are waterproof, as your ancient independence is forever­ secured and enhanced by a few nautical miles. And you, after all, are one of those places where you never have to go somewhere, because we’re already here.

Now it’s November, suddenly dark too early, when even a flannel shirt won’t suffice. New destinations beckon, oases of 77 degrees and wide horizons. So farewell again, my more than friend, with so many benefits. May my resistance remain forever weak and may you continue quietly to finesse the real world. Take care of yourself. Have a cozy winter (ever feel like cuddling up to Nantucket?). I hope you finish the Lagoon Pond bridge and find more affordable housing. I’ll see you next May, ever to return to your grace and calm, to rest my head for a spell on your peaceful shoulder.

T.

P.S. As a season-ending salute, here’s a “van Gogh” portrait of your fulgent light, taken last week over the harbor where this semi-Islander will soon depart.

Tony Balis has visited the Vineyard since 1969 and lived here year-round from 1994 to January of 2014. His mission, as founder of The Humanity Initiative, is to end war (infusionsofpeace.org).