That is what photos are ~ I need them.
At 4:58, this morning, I heard the first sound of the Howler monkeys. They might not be the first awake, but they are the first heard. Soon there will be a rooster and then the dogs, followed by the birds. I enjoy the rhythms of nature. My comings and goings are like folding the corner of a page, to mark your place. I go from quarter time to a stacatto pace, then TSA arpeggios, back to quarter time. That’s my rhythm. The pleasantries of Potrero are so unlike the foreign, 1/4 mile red lights and road rage of Amelia. The sounding off fiery chutes, burning pulp to make paper, is my morning sound on the island. A lone car will start the day; the same time as the monkey’s howl. It’s timing. I’m tracking time.
It seems, that when I built my home here, I manifested an old and deep desire, to be an aesthetic. A childhood idealistic dream of life. Possibly a throwback, to my days of parochial school. I took it all seriously. Or were my desires innate, laying dormant, deep within, some segment of my DNA. Regardless, of it’s seemingly unplanned existence, I marvel at my cavelike abode. Even when my drapes are drawn and you can view the garden, you see nothing but green leaves, flowers, and animals through my windows. The interior remains dark, because of the over hang, the thousands of plants in the yard, and the monstrous mango tree, that provides shade for all, not to mention 300 mangos, last year.
The insulated feeling, of the concrete walls, covered with paintings, photos, stickers, posters and shelves, inch to inch, filled with knick nacks, and dust: every item in it’s place. I like it. The restful, secure feeling I have in my carved out space is one thing, but nothing compares to opening the front door, in the morning, and feeling the fresh air of Costa Rica. The breath, inspires a visualization of what lays a short distance, on the bay ~ clean water!
This is my sanctuary. This is a slice, of my life. However, I will be headed home. Home to an island that people call paradise.
To each his own said the old lady that kissed the cow.
The dirt roads here, in the neighborhood, are filled with them. So, there are plenty to choose from.