I just love it when things are so quiet that when I put my spoon down on my plate, it seems like a crash. At least, this is how it has become after a year of living in a maddening city which has more traffic and noise than should be legal. Also, not having had a vacation for many, many, many moons might have something to with it.
Anyhow, so it happened that I could get away from it all over the weekend. I can imagine few things better than just sitting on a chair in a glass balcony, looking out at coffee plantations and watching the clouds shift shape over the mountains, with nothing on my mind except what awaits me for lunch. Or not wearing a watch and the cell phone with its mouth shut.
The rain is coming in a baby-fine spray, driven almost horizontally by the wind. Later in the evening, we sit around the table drinking home brewed banana wine and eating fresh fish. The morning is misty and fresh; taking a walk around the plantation reveals delights like quaint staircases and miniature lily ponds, fruits that I don’t know the names of, and a far off church in the mist revealed only by a simple cross.
Our hosts are simple folks. Besides coffee, they also grow vanilla and arum lilies. They brew wine and spend evenings on the swing listening to the radio in the porch. They know the birds that visit each morning. When we left, they gave us warm hugs and a bag of fragrant cardamom.
I want to be just like them when I grow up.