We switched to a different cottage today since another party had already booked our place for this week. It's set a wee bit farther back from the water, but is much quieter and more commodious. The cabinet doors are bright orange, and the floor tiles are a warm brown. You might not think it, but it's quite pleasing to the eye. The terrace, surrounded by garden, makes for a fine office and viewing place of unusual birds.I'm growing more fond of this place by the day. I love this area, but specifically, love this micro-Euro-village. Our little cottage is surrounded by other little cottages, separated by pleasant gardens and pathways, and the feeling is communal and quaint somehow. When we look out our window at the neighbours on the left, they are sitting on their terrace, reading books. On the other side, strains of conversation in German drift in through the open door. It's a soft version of German - a Caribbean version - peppered with deep chuckles. There's a sweet smell in the air, and it's from a pipe being puffed on at the cottage opposite. No children running about, no yahoos sitting on patios drinking and raving, no yappy dogs, no blasting music. Esta buenissimo!We ran into a fellow Canadian down the beach yesterday, and he told us about another place 'that would be much more suitable' for us - a place full of young people. Hostia, no no no! I am much happier in the quiet, respectful, and highly interesting company of these elderly Europeans, where I can wander around in my night-dress and take pictures of bougainvillea and rocking chairs if I choose.
I don't need, or like, big loud fast excitement. I find too much pleasure in small things, in simple things. I was cutting up some papaya in front of the kitchen window when a flickering movement outside caught my eye. It was a bird, about the size of a Northern Flicker, but with long speckled tail feathers, a smooth grey body, a long thin beak (hooked I think), and round red reptilian eyes. It was stalking a tiny gecko... tilting its head to scan the palm tree for signs of movement, and then launching itself with murderous speed. They chased round and round the trunk, up and down - until the gecko disappeared and the bird - a Hispaniolan Lizard Cuckoo, I later learned - gave up. It really was a pleasure to see.The days are treating me so well here. They go by quickly even though the pace is slow. Everything that is not important is slipping away - things that at home feel pressing or obligatory. I have not yet needed to play my keyboard. I'm fully content to just recharge and contemplate music. By giving myself permission not to compose, and by letting go of the accompanying guilt and anxiety, I've regained some perspective and remembered that periods of rest and internal development are just as important for my art as periods of fervent practice. Also, I haven't blogged much in months, and it feels good to write again.
This is my 2nd annual winter escape, and I just can't describe how wonderful it is to relocate for a couple of months to a beautiful and warm place. It's the time of year when everyone at home begins to take on the look of road-weary travellers in search of a warm hearth. To shift from an atmosphere of stress, strain and darkness to a place where life is bursting forth from all sides and the earth herself seems to want to nourish and take care of you... well, it's too good to even absorb for the first couple of weeks. But now that my skin is turning brown, I think my mind too is starting to lose its pasty glare. It's more content with this simplicity. It's content finding mysterious snail-shells on the beach and playing chicken with the incoming waves. Which doesn't mean that I'll forget about my work or become an ambitiousness beach bunny (I don't think)... rather, it means that my work/music has more meaning and that the work/music that IS meaningless can settle on the bottom where it belongs. I love this life so much.
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Simply beautiful.
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