Sunday, August 16, 2009

the garden of last days

Looking at the glot of days on the calendar, you never imagine how fast they will fly. But here we are at the end. This is the last middle afternoon breeze off the water. The last violet and rose ice cream covered in sake. The last bike ride home from the plage. The last stupid advertisement for Marineland or PEZ, pulled by a prop plane across the shoreline.

I'm really no smarter than I was, despite my ambitious plans for self-discovery, for yoga on the lawn, for reading and writing and decision making. Mostly what I've done here is lie around with my mouth agape, grateful and awestruck by the fact that I, twenty-something ex-waitress, got to spend a whole month in paradise. I've settled into being someone I like—for a change. But more than that, I've eaten myself stupid, I've read a dozen plus wonderfully formulaic murder mysteries, and I haven't regretted a single blessed moment. These are my immortal days.

Sure, life will come slapping back as soon as we land. But right now, I'd rather just sit here looking out at the gulf, with my boyfriend playing mournful piano, and crying quietly because I am stupid lucky and I damn well know it.

I've been around most of the globe and I've never found a person or a place that has felt more like home. You just don't give that up, do you?


Max by any other name. said...

it's easy to find home in a place where there are no responsibilities, no real choices to make. but it's finding it in the midst of the wreck of the average day that leaves me breathless and grateful. i know you know what i mean.

Anonymous said...

"I've settled into being someone I like—for a change."

Maybe that's what feels like home...