The little birds fly in through the kitchen windows to peck at the mangoes and bananas in the fruit basket. They search for crumbs on the floor. The little green lizard lingers at the door as if waiting for an invite in. If I don’t ‘shoo’ it away, it will camouflage, change colour similar to the kitchen flooring and slide in unnoticed. My mother repeatedly warns me that if I don’t learn to shut the door behind me, one day I will get a surprise. I imagine all those tropical insects that bite and sting. I close the door!
At night, I hear the chirping sounds of the crickets, like lots of whistling bells, as the males rub their wings together to attract a mate. Not unlike their human cousins, the cricket urges are greater at night – their noises are louder!
The air is fresh from the sea breeze. The trees and bushes are lush. It is the rainy season. I can hear the soft sound of the rain in the distance which rises into a crescendo and gets harsher as it lands on the galvanised rooftops. The rain shower will stop in a few minutes; the sun will come out. I feel there is nothing more relaxing than the soft sound of rain at nights, and nothing more energising as the warmth of the sun as it rises in the morning.
There’s natural beauty all around. But it’s also an auspicious time. It’s the planting season here, after the Corpus Christi holiday. The soil is now sufficiently wet, the older planters are waiting for the full moon to appear in another couple of weeks. I wonder whether the younger farmers are even aware of the significance of the moons for planting crops.
It’s also the beginning of the hurricane season and I’m wondering if there’s a storm, whether all the peas and corn being planted in my village, and all the plants distributed by the Ministry of Agriculture - soursop, avocado (pear), mango, guava, breadnut, carambola, red and yellow plums, sapote, star apple, sugar apple, cinnamon, cocoa and nutmeg, will be washed away. There’s warning of climate changes, heavy rain and stormy weather ahead.
There’s little or no corona virus here and there isn’t a mad rush to take the vaccine of which we don’t have a choice, although we are grateful for the generosity of India and WHO. I detect a hidden anxiety - if the virus does take hold, there isn’t the medical capacity and breathing machines to save the people.
There are lots to contemplate and distract. So, I breathe in and out and follow the meditative advice: use the time to know one oneself, look inwards - mind, body and spirit. My concentration lapse, I wish I had my old bicycle but remind myself that the streets are too hilly for cycling without good gears. Time for positive thoughts - for a caring global community and eco systems.
A new season will come bringing the fruits of labour. Perhaps we ought to follow the example of the cricket insects – rub our wings together, make a pleasant call and hope!