“You suppose you are the trouble, but you are the cure.” —Rumi
Transitions are tricky. Plate glass tabletops shatter into millions of pieces. The clothesline is dirty, so the sheet is washed again. Canines loudly wonder what you are doing in their ‘hood. The apartment owners may need boundary lessons.
On the scarier side, a man follows you to the beach at sunrise, whistling at you like a dog, until you stop with clenched fists, turn around, and yell, “Get away from me NOW!”
He does.
After your long swim, you rebuff two more men on the way back to the new dwelling. But you only have to say “NO!” to the last one. Progress.
Smaller disappointments: a cute pair of red scissors disappears; the aloof horse neighbor declines carrots; the dry bag leaks.
On the plus side, you bike south to Las Conchas two mornings in a row, outpacing would-be suitors. You snorkel as the sun’s rays cut into the Sea, reminding you of god. The landlady drives you to the boatyard to check on Habibi and pick up more things. She then buys you a mango raspado (slushie or shave-ice). While you’re out, you hit two fruterías and a grocery store searching for mamey (tastes like butterscotch custard), which you both love.
A tiger cat visits. The bicycle seat is raised. The laundry smells so good after drying on the now-clean lines. You are able to sleep at night in the air-conditioned bedroom. You make an altar with Mary, Emmett, sparkling blue faceted goblets, and a votive. You place Basil by a sunny window (a gift from a friendly capitana).
You meditate. You paint. You breathe.
Three years on a boat is long enough.
Happy anniversary.
Bookshelf:
Romy & Julio
Diary of a Reluctant Traveler
Sea Change: stories & splashes
Shoulds are for Saints: the true life adventures of Suzy Le Speed
Dance First …ask questions later: poems & paintings
words & art by shé 
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