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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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 wirelessaccess thieved from Lu Kee Restaurant.