Summers here at Port Andin, Puerto Rico. A boat pulled up in the lagoon with five drummers playing Bomba and neighbors began to dance -- first Francisco El Cubano the local inebriate sporting a big-league black eye from Mary, his feisty wife, wowed the crowd with his hip wagging and fast shuffles; but then Onyelis, age eleven took over, showing moves she didnt have last year, stole the show. Who were these drummers and what brought them to our dock, who knows? Then perfect strangers stopped by and spent the afternoon with us in our garden. Javier is a noted puppeteer, and showed his stuff with an all-embracing monkey creature that drove our dogs into a frenzy; Daniel, a gifted woodworker passed out in our hammock; and Alexandra, recently graduated law student, downed drink after drink, and inspired by Ednas bravery, they both inaugurated the summer by diving off the dock into the wild currents of the lagoon. Always the aspiring host, I spoke my version of Spanish all afternoon to the delight and confusion of our guests and then filled them full of pizza (from scratch) from my magic kitchen. In the morning, I had finished at last painting the concrete walkway into the garden a spruce green that in the fading light of afternoon resembles a velvet carpet. Ours is a garden of delights. When Daniel awoke from his long snooze, he asked where am I? I think I died and have awakened in another world.
Posted on: Sun, 25 May 2014 02:18:36 +0000
Trending Topics
© 2015