Rhythms of tropical life

Sun rises, and cock crows.
Other birds chirp and start their daily songs.
If deep in the bush, low sounds of cattle.
Nearer to town or a highway, the sounds of the first movers.
“Pass and move, Donovan!”
The sound of leather kicked by foot, comes over a distant fence.
Noise travels, so the boys and men could be a way off.
A face appears at a window, smiling.
Pink pinafore underneath a neatly braided head.
“I forgot my key. You want coffee?”
I dive into the water and feel its surprising warmth.
Arms wind, head turns, feet kick.
Again, under the water.
The rays streak through the surface.
No sacrifice this, just a choice.
You can’t do it all, or the house will fall.
A man walks out to me, a club in hand.
I smile at Satan’s latest try to test me.

All in the family

I’m not going to fight the general mood. It’s a long holiday weekend and a good time for a few days with family and friends. I’ve spent much of the day with people other than my family.

I overnighted with a golfing friend and his family near Ocho Rios, and was treated to the kind of solid Jamaican breakfast that many yearn for on a Saturday, roast breadfruit, fried dumplings, ackee and salt fish, prepared by his mother. My morning was set. Off I went to play in a golf tournament.

My friend hadn’t known about the weekend event and desperately wanted to play, so I paid his entry fee. Little really by comparison to the hospitality his mother had shown me.

After golf, I headed west towards Montego Bay to meet some friends having time with their kids. I got there just as the men’s 4×100 meters relay final was starting in Glasgow. Everyone came out of the pool to cheer on the team and see Usain Bolt do his thing. Gold medal secured, we had lunch. I was just ready for that. We then cooled out in the water with the children. The golfers got a hard time for putting that game in the way of family gatherings. My friend had played early morning, but missed family breakfast. Naughty :-). I had played while my family were abroad. But, my wife had come back last, and suggested joining us in MoBay. She would send our daughter off the camp at Moorlands, then fly up.

I felt pressure to cancel my playing the second day of the tournament. I’d have to drive the 100 km to Ocho Rios to play. Right one, I’ve not decided but my inclining is to just enjoy the rare time of nothing else on the agenda, and have so good dinner on the terrace and look forward to a flow Sunday en famille.