What a sweet, sublime awakening! Three of Mother Ocean’s timeless clocks gently
stirred me from sleep. First, the boat
shifted as the tide switched direction.
Then the sun nudged just high enough to peek into one of AVENTURA’s
portholes. And finally, a flock of wild
parrots boisterously flew over the bay, swapping gossip and recipes.
I lay on my back wondering if the
ship’s geckos were smiling as joyously as me.
Probably not, since they were unaware of how happily emancipated I
felt. Unlike so many of my fellow humans,
I was not a slave to the Tyranny of Frenzy.
The dictators of Speed and Stuff did not control me.
My plan had been to start a new
essay this morning on some political or economic issue that was troubling me. But then I heard … the laughter in the mango
tree. Three small cayucos were
pulled up onto the beach of the little island where I was anchored. There were many tiny, one-tree islands in my
neighborhood, but those all featured tall, skinny palm trees. But this one boasted an enormous mango tree. And today it had five giggling interlopers.
Up in the branches were two boys and
a girl. They would vigorously shake the
limbs trying to dislodge some of the ripe fruit. Down below a girl and a boy raced around with
empty rice bags trying to catch the falling mangoes. After half an hour, the rice sacks were
almost full and the kids came down from the tree. Then the five of them leaned their backs
against their cayucos, stretched their bare feet into the water and savored a spring-time
feast. The scene was so pure and idyllic
that I could visualize Gauguin reaching for his easel and brushes.