A Sort Of Grace

My mind feels empty this morning like the shore washed clean by waves. It's taken me three days to reach this place and tomorrow we'll be leaving and so it goes.
I was thinking about how immediate the effect of the water and sky are on me in Mexico. How I can honestly and truly feel my neurons untangling, relaxing, scrubbed pure and within an hour I am smiling like a fool and I wonder why that is and why it takes me so much longer here and why the effects, although similar, are not really the same at all.
Well. I am not complaining. Believe me.

Lily called this morning so that Owen could talk to me. He wanted to remind me that I had promised, before I left town, that we would go to the noodle place when I got back. I assured him that I had not forgotten and that yes, we will go to the noodle place. Lily told me that the night I made that promise she asked him what he wanted for his supper and he told her that he would just wait to eat until I got home and took him to eat noodles and sushi.
The child never forgets a promise and children don't and it is a true fact of life that you should never make a promise to a child you cannot keep. Ever.
I miss that child. And his merry brother.
I will keep my promise.

I think we're going to take a walk in a little while. It is warm again today and there is only a sweet breeze, no cutting wind. The osprey just flew by close enough that I could hear the stiff-silk sound of his wings. I see pine trees and scrub oak, white clouds, blue sky, gray boards, water lapping so gently it barely makes a sound as it dances in, in, in.

We ate eggs this morning with all the vegetables and biscuits too. My hands turn to the cooking here with as much unconscious purpose as they do in my kitchen in Lloyd. I guess there is no mystery there as I have been cooking in this kitchen for fourteen years, using the skillets and pots and bowls and knives that were here when we got here, the vintage electric range which cooks just fine even though it is brown and ugly as homemade sin.

The Great Blue Heron just flapped in and landed and I was thrilled to see him. I haven't seen him this entire visit but when I quietly stood to see him better, he shied and took off.

I think that many things of beauty are like that. They come unexpectedly and if too closely observed, disappear.

But. One has seen them. One has been reminded once again of that particular grace which, although fleeting, is always possible.

Good morning from Dog Island.

Love...Ms. Moon