A strange feeling, leaving a place with the almost certain knowledge that you'll never be there again.
It's definitely the rainy season, we awoke in the dark to downpour and saw the children off to school splashing through warm puddles before getting into the car. Who cares if you get soaked, it soon dries, and it's as enjoyable as a warm shower.
And the birds are wildly enthusiastic (do I detect a blackbird's trill?)
The stillness hangs over the house; I pack the large suitcase into which David and I fit everything we've needed during this month.
I will miss the quality of silence here; the trees hug the air inside their densely-matted spaces and do not speak. I only walked along careful paths carved for me so I could briefly turn my back on paved roads and systems of civilization.
I understand now why people quit the built constructions we call towns and cities. But ambivalence remains: I do love Mozart and sushi!
The rain has stopped and through the dense green come sounds of twittering birds and chirping of crickets. Sometimes we have been visited by a few monkeys, delicately treading along the top of the back fence. They gather behind the stores nearby, scrounging leftovers from the little cafes (Starbucks and other multi-nationals).
Speaking of which, now for our final expedition down the hill to the little supermarket and handy local stores (run mainly by Chinese Malays).
Here comes the sun.
No comments:
Post a Comment