Rain. Days and nights of wet, thunder, fallen tree limbs. I don’t remember the rains being so long, so violent. Beautiful. Everything is green, lush, fed. Our floors are littered with tiny footprints of mud. Red rivers flow down our sloped front yard. It just keeps raining.
The butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History did not fail to impress today. Again, the wonder children bring back into your life. I remember when I was younger I used to collapse under the sheer heaviness that we are on a planet spinning in space, fast. I would sit at a river’s edge and imagine dinosaurs walking through it and could not speak as my mouth filled with mystery and miracles.
Just thirty minutes of watching butterflies today and I am once again in awe, and feeling the tilt of the axis.
I am in love. Italy is now mine. It took a dark, edgy city to pull me in, and sink me. Naples is deep. It’s dirty. It’s sexy. It’s everything you think of when you think of Pacino, Deniro, men in dark suits whispering in corners. Sure, there is the Corso lined with expensive boutiques and monuments of stunning beauty, all perched upon hills that fall into an endless sea, but like an alley cat I staked the streets I was warned not to go. I leaned into the whispers and studied the faces distorted from not towing the line. I watched eyes watching mine and tried to catch the passion leaking from the sewers. My heart beat faster there. Even back in Rome it all looks new. I think we might be here for a while, caught, trapped. It runs in my blood. My heritage. I have come home.
The summer is winding down, should have been home by now. We ran from two islands, but Irene caught us in NY and has us grounded. No space on any airlines, so we wait, stuck, packed, ready, in memories.
We left this behind, spending our last day on the farm haying:
My husband got to do this:
while I ran around finding things like this:
I had no idea a wasp’s nest could be as the moon, with a man sitting inside it.
And yes, it was beautiful, the mountains and sky and space and rivers. I like that.
But I love this:
I need this:
When I climb into water, I climb back into myself. No matter how long I have been away, I find it just beneath the surface. It’s always there waiting. Sometimes for too long. Sometimes, I believe, I cry simply to taste salt.
Little crabs came to visit:
I caught a lizard being coy:
The moon stayed with us all day:
The last morning, before we had to evacuate our little dollop of sand that sits in the middle of heaven, the rain came briefly, but hard, turning the water into diamonds. We ran into it, warmth hugging our legs and bodies, heads smacked with a cooler type of wetness. It left as quickly as it came, leaving behind even more beauty:
Everything must come to an end.
I feel full. The last two weeks at the sea filled my cup. I am ready to go back now. Discover Rome all over again, discover it anew.
But we sit in NY, and wait….