Max Tries to Make a Friend

Max sits, staring at the backdoor screen.

She walks, step-step, step-step, closer to the doorway,

eyes never wavering from

the silhouette of a newly-hatched basilisk lizard

clinging to the screen.

Slowly, gently, she reaches out her paw, touches the screen.

In an instant, the tiny basilisk leaps away, disappearing off the deck.

Max sits, staring at the backdoor screen, 

           waiting for her friend to return.

Half a Year

Half a year to be absent from the shores of my true life

was harder than I thought it could be;

harder than it ought to be, to step back into my old life.

Half a year wrapped in the cold throes of old obligations;

creating the endings I sought,

shaping forever-links to friends and memories.

Half a year to lay the old to satisfactory rest;

           the past is settled, the future is open

Lilies at the edge of the jungle.

Notes – I wrote this after spending 6 months in Rochester away from Dennis and Max in Belize while tying up my career at Mayo.  It was much more stressful than I had anticipated it would be, even though I visited Belize twice during that time. 

Tropical Fruit

The watermelon is ripe

when the agouti takes a bite.

The guava is nearly at its peak

when a jays jabs it with its beak.

The cashew fruit is ready

when the parrot has it in its belly.

We have yet to see

if it will be we

who are the pigs

that get the figs.

Too Much

 

 Too much to see, to feel,

to hear, to smell, to taste.

Overwhelmed, I close my eyes;

senses meld into new configurations.

Music joins the wind’s caress and the scent of the jungle night.

Sounds from the sea dissolve into the taste of wine on my tongue,

and my skin remembers the heat from the noonday sun.

In and out, 

my breaths turn my self in side out,

raw and exposed to the world. 

The Belt in the Back of the Wardrobe

The belt in the back of the wardrobe

is blooming with galaxies and nebulae of green.

New worlds unsuspected,

still unseen by the Hubble telescope,

expand independently of intelligent life on earth. 

The Volunteer

  

Creamy whiteness hidden inside magenta skin, the volunteer sweet potato

joins purple, white, green, and orange, destined for roasting.  

 

Tracks in the Sand

 

Tracks in the Sand

Who made these small tracks with toes of three?

Not a bird, not a lizard, not a crab.

Not a cat, not a dog.

Not a rat, not a possum, not a person.

A shy agouti, the local “rabbit”,

comes out at dawn and comes out at dusk,

leaving only its tracks out at midday.

 

Passion Fruit Passion

 

Orange-colored, seed-filled juice lurks inside the maroon-hued passion fruit.  Flamboyant color is matched by intense taste and tartness; a treat to the tongue and to the eye.

 

Friends

Dear friends, old friends.

We talk of days bygone, days more recent, days to come.

Days we will remember; days that define our lives, define ourselves.

To be a friend is to be 

forever.

Hammock Time

The siren hammock calls to me,

with claims of rejuvenating afternoon rest.

 

Shell Ginger in the Rain

Shell ginger blossoms fall heavily from their protective sepals,

collecting raindrops as they dangle toward the ground below. 

 

Small Whelk

Spiral gyres of decreasing size 

reduced to a skeleton by water and sand

tell of years gone past

in life and death of the small whelk.

Jan 31, 2013

Bumping along Monkey River Road,

warm breeze on hot skin.

Happiness flies into the car on

the sweet scent of orange blossoms.

Jan 30, 2013

A week or so ago, I captured some caterpillars on one of our mango trees.  I am having a go at rearing them to see what they turn into ...

Wee hairy beasties in yellow, orange, and black

move with imperceptible slowness across the mango leaves,

vacuuming off the surface layer of cells and

leaving brown in their wake.  

Small agents of destruction, growing larger every day.

Jan 29, 2013

This small stone came to me today as I was painting the window frames in our cabana and thinking about all the other small stones I have read recently.  ;-)

White paint, like snow, covers a lot of ugly.

Would we sing the joy of a summer day

without the gloom of winter by which to know it?

Rich burnt orange rim in soft focus,
the moon peeks over the dark grey ocean.
With every moment, it grows larger, brighter
until at last it slips free of the dark water.
Gold slowly yields to silver and grey to black.
The moon remains oblivious to its transformation.

Jan 26, 2013

Stevie Ray plays in the background,
the moon dances in the fore.
I'm stuck in the middle - there is no better place.

Jan 25, 2013

bad writing mojo yesterday.  this one is revised.

seried mountain ridges,
painted flat; 
each a paler shade of grey
against a sky of faintest rose.

Jan 24, 2013

sskrtchh, sskrtchh
The sound is coming from the bathroom wall.
I have visions of a possum insinuating itself between the wooden studs,
crawling through gaps in our rustic cabana,
to ransack our kitchen after lights out.
ssskrtchhhhh
Or a bat invading from above,
now trapped and confused.
crrrrkkkk
The closet door edges open;
I hold my breath, unable to move.
mrwow
Max, trapped by her fascination with the closet,
emerges, relieved to have forced her way out,
asking for chin rubs and kitty treats for comfort after her harrowing experience.

Jan 23, 2013

Wrapped in a snuggly blanket, reading an ebook, makes it almost feel good to feel sick.

Jan 22, 2013

If you listen carefully on a still night,
you can hear the tinkling sound of
the coralline sand settling back down from 
the uplift of a wavelet.

It is the subtle sound 
of bubbles bursting from joy,
of tinsel falling from the Christmas tree,
of stars coming into being,
and of potential futures narrowed 
to the reality of now.

If you listen carefully on a still night,
you can hear the universe.

Jan 21, 2013

Pizza dough is soft and stretchy in my hands.
Later, it will be crunchy between my teeth 
and salty on my tongue.
Change is good.

Jan 20, 2013

The yellow-veined palm frond bends over backward; 
all the better to play air guitar.

Jan 19, 2013

A day of frustrations.
Damn computer!  Why doesn't it do what I want it to do?
I shall take this small stone and throw it!

Walking down a new path,
a path cut through the tangled jungle.
Epiphytes with roots growing up instead of down.
Brand new baby ferns not even half an inch tall 
towered over by their 8 foot tall parents.
Hummingbirds barnstorming tiny little flowers high above.
Mangrove roots seeking air, poking like fingers up out of the marsh's muck below.
Curious birds peering at the curious intruder.
A new world has opened right in front of me.
I am in awe.

Sounding like a troop of Tarzans, parrots whoop it up high in the jungle canopy.  

Jan 16, 2013

The day pulls me in so many directions.
Hard to focus on finishing one thing when so many things need doing.
Even in paradise there are only 24 hours in a day.

Like the tendrils on a vine, 
whose sole purpose is to secure the growing plant to a support,
these small stones anchor me in the now, 
supporting my growth into the future.

Jan 15, 2013

I find as I put these observations that become small stones into words, that other layers of meaning are exposed, layers of which I was not consciously aware until I translated the images/sensations/feelings into words.  Day after day this has happened.  It is astonishing!  Does my mind know more than I do?  Does writing release understanding?  Or is it that scrutiny helps me understand myself and perhaps understand more of the world?  In a way, it doesn't matter how it happens, only that it does happen.  I do know that I will continue to write and see what emerges.  

In the stone below, the blemishes accumulated by a leaf turn it from detritus to treasure when viewed in revealing light.

ILLUMINATION
Dead leaf, caught and pressed against the screen, 
transformed by a fleeting ray of sunshine 
into a golden, gem-studded heart.   

Jan 14, 2013

The little warbler flits from screen to screen, selecting insects as if going along a buffet line.  Max is entranced, watching and waiting in vain for dinner to land at her table.

Jan 13, 2013

Black dog Berry leaps into the air, intent on chasing away the soaring birds.  Satisfied with a job well done now that they have sailed on by, Berry sits down with a doggy grin.  Once again she has saved us from the evil pelicans.

Jan 12, 2013

Looking down, I see my hands washing lettuce leaves, patting them dry.   I remember my Mother's hands doing the same, while saying "I like the crunchy parts best. Don't you?" I would give her all of the crunchy parts if I could.

Jan 11, 2013

The insistent aroma of the ripe guava distracts me from my work.  I succumb to temptation; the pink flesh releasing a flavor worthy of its allure, the seeds a hard reminder that these are earthly delights.

Jan 10, 2013

The confluence of three waters is a drink of Monkey River milk chocolate, Black Creek dark chocolate, and a transcendent aquamarine Caribbean Ocean; swirled, not mixed.

Jan 9, 2013

Two pairs of eyes stare at one another; the cat from its sanctuary under the bed and the little girl on hands and knees to get a better view.

Jan 8, 2013

My fingers wrap around the almost ripe guava to pluck it from the tree
only to find the juicy evidence of an earlier bird than I.

Jan 7, 2013

Dawdling along the beach, on lookout for the perfect shell, the sudden wind whips my attention to the curtain of water intent on making landfall.  The shell remains at large yet another day.

Jan 6, 2013

The little waves swishing along the beach, the crickets singing in the trees, and the night heron calling on its flight overhead almost drown out the sound of the generator.

Jan 5, 2013

The stillness of the mosquito-buzzed evening is detonated by a flash mob of tree swallows on wing, chittering with excitement as they clear the air.

Jan 4, 2013

"Blanca1998"
Unfamiliar electronic techno Caribbean music reverberates inside my skull.  I sip my coke straight from the sweating bottle, happy for the shade as I work.  Blanca1998 provides wireless access thieved from Lu Kee Restaurant.

Jan 3, 2013

I breathe quietly, easily; absorbing and being absorbed by the luminescent silver sphere that is my early morning universe held still and silent by clouds and mist.

Jan 2, 2013

Wind-blown leaves etch cryptic messages on sand left smooth by tropical rain.

Jan 1, 2013

A New Year
     in a new place.
White sand
     instead of white snow.
Dwarf yellow palms
     instead of Colorado blue spruce.
Blue-green ocean 
     instead of County Road 25.
A change of pace,
     a change for life.