At pre-dawn; dark with a wash of lightening periwinkle to the southeast, behind the lace of the silhouetted flamboyan tree, one or two last strong stars, before they bow out, and the backdrop of last cheeps and chirps.
They change at this time of day, from the all night bug chatter to birds. And these literal early birds won’t last past sun up; another shift takes over then. For this next hour the birds and frogs and crickets, and really who knows what, all make these crazy noises overlap into a cacophony. It’s a wonder most folks sleep through it. I don’t usually. I don’t like to miss this beauty, quiet, cool, alone time – when the finca is most mine.
Not of course that I don’t love to share it. You know I do. That’s what the finca is all about. But this winter, my life down here is all about my book, which for now I’m calling Duct Taped Dreams: the Story of the Finca and How We Pulled it Off. I finished its first draft this past fall, sent it off for editing, and now, with that, the holidays, the transition of moving back, and getting settled — it’s time for me to get to the revisions; the scrubbing and the reworking, akin to housework and puttering, or even daily inn-keeping. Nothing too hard; enjoyable really — in any of them, I’m working with something I love; either my home, the book, our guests, and the finca. All life is work. But I love it. And now, the first moments of silence for over 12 hours. Remarkable. The frogs and insects have folded up and hunkered down. The first shift of birds have had their say. The valley’s dogs and chicken have must have all been fed while I was writing…so other than the hum of the fan here in my jungle cabin, it is silent. Even just for a moment, this total quiet is so rare as to be startling, and precious. Ahhhhhh…there are the roosters. And the rattling of dishes over in the cabana. New birds are tuning up. It’s another day starting at the finca and I have work to do.
In gratitude for that, and all of this, c