My insides are rustling in breezes making the scratching music of dry leaves on dead twigs.
It is a lonely, little song. Not much of a song at all. Just the skittering whispers of my spirit. The wind blowing through the holes, my experiences and knowledge and beliefs all scattered like garden detritus at my feet.
Barren. Bare twig. Dead leaf.
And I make a decision.
I’d rather the wind howl in my soul full of holes. At least the hollow moan is real. Undressed, unfilled, naked, waiting.
Once, I got to take a real vacation. My husband and I spent a week in Mexico at an amazing resort, sans kids. It was our only luxury vacation, and it was lovely, every minute. Cancun is located in the Yucatan Peninsula where the fragility and toughness of the Mayan coastline enthralls. Salt and freshwater meet in clandestine fashion beneath the land. Tangling roots of the Banyan trees create a magical coastline, not of land nor of water, but of living trees, providing protection, food and life for so many waterfowl and climbing monkeys alike. We visited an eco-park nearby where giant sea turtles, dolphins and coral-reef fish thrived. There was a tropical butterfly house and a team of researchers that studied those miraculous insects. We could watch dozens of chrysalis in various stages of metamorphosis while they hung tenuously in protective terrariums. The cases of each chrysalis were semi-transparent and revealed somewhat the changes taking place, while they were taking place! The observer could see, with naked eye, the wings forming, or the eye …