Lazuli Green Island Mama

Lazuli Green Island Mama

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

it was a sign

My apologies. Just when life gets colourful and beautiful and full of interesting sites, I can't seem to upload photos to this li'l blog with my new home internet connection. Might have to get the technical team on to it.

In the meantime, more ramblings.

Island life on a Wednesday night. Nick Drake and stewed apples, crushed nuts and coconut milk. In a quiet and warm timber kitchen.

Just some of the signs that this house was waiting, especially for us:
  • there was an eagle high in the sky on our first visit;
  • there was also an eagle high in the sky above me as I waited to hear if it would really be ours;
  • a soaring heart each time I visited;
  • there is a "Barb" living next door;
  • the discussion of communal chooks within our first 5-minutes-over-the-fence chit chat;
  • a lovely "Welcome home" at our first neighbourhood dinner party;
  • we have to step outside to reach our bedrooms (always wanted that);
  • a mulberry tree in the back yard (another place of my heart, Pratale, in Umbria - Italy, had a mulberry tree in the central courtyard);
  • a bouganvillea over the front deck (always wanted one of those);
  • green tiles in the bathroom;
  • the house is blue;
  • and rainbow lorikeets and king parrots come to talk to me, as if they knew I'd be here.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

the new life starts here...

"I can see my way so clear,
the new life starts.... here."

O those Waterboys. They sing it so nicely, Scottish accents and all. (and an appropriate band name for the minute too!)

We've lived on an island for several weeks and let me tell you, the waters surrounding me are well and truly glistening, and whispering my name. Everything around me looks fresh and clear and smells of freedom. There's a rather large blue tongue lizard who's been hanging out with us quietly in our backyard. There's also a mama possum, with little one on her back, who frolics around the mulberry tree and along the back verandah each night. From our beds at night, we hear the boats down at the jetties clunking together.

And those little boys... well they haven't stopped expanding into their new space. They skip around: jumping in and out of other people's boats (despite my protests); they ride their bikes along the dirt roads; they wander off and into new friends houses; they climb over the fence to jump on the neighbours' trampoline and play with the two little boys who live there; they hang from the branches on the tree out the front of our house and talk in chirpy voices to anyone walking past; they jump on and off the ferries with light feet and happy hearts.

We all have such happy hearts. I'm feeling most grateful for the freedom. It's taking my breath away, and often even my words. To attempt to explain it, seems to tarnish the beauty. So my words seem cumbersome to me, incomplete somehow, as if I can't quite reach the depths. Perhaps I'm still landing. Transitions take time and I'm anxious not to jinx this one. So for now, I'll end. Return to centre. Breathe deeply in and stretch out. So grateful, such an overwhelmingly open, happy heart.