We bore this tide of echoes with lightness, attributing most of it to having lived in a country with a similar history of Imperial domination, down to the same conquistadores. But who didn't Spain touch when she was in her hey day? It was evening by the time we left the cuotas (toll roads), navigating through small towns and villages, till we were finally in Valladolid where we'd stay the night.
I'd summarily described it to the Lovely Libran as "you know, it's like a small Spanish town" deliberately leaving out most of the details to surprise her. The evening had done my efforts better, for we'd arrived on the night of a fiesta. The streets had garlands of lights, flags and flowers hung everywhere, and there was that general buzz of celebratory excitement.
Yes, despite my having been the Muse of the Yucatan and the past month and a half having gone at warp speed, I'm still very much here. Except I'm entertaining the should be strange yet really not at all odd feeling that I'm not who I was when I left.
I'd sent off a birthday gift to the Pegasus in a mad rush this week, only to have her write back excitedly buoyed by both the gift and how I'd divined her old stomping grounds in Delayed (Adelaide), a city I'd never been to, "A Spa on Halifax, I used to live there! Are you psychic? And did this happen to you after the Yucatan??"
If I WERE psychic, I think I'd be at the nearest shop buying Powerball tickets this very second. I suppose these sort of resonant coincidences happen more frequently during certain times than not. I'd asked the Lovely Libran sister to descend upon me in the last two weeks of November, and together we decided to conquer the so-called jungle.
We'd been on trips before, some we started together, others we just arranged to coincide at certain points, easily going our separate ways when the trip ended. But this was northeastern Mexico, the farthest flung one could get in that country before you had to say you were in Guatemala. And it was only for six days.
October is here. And I'm writing this on a dimmed screen in a darkened room as I recover from eye surgery. Eye surgery which I bought from Groupon, of all places. The power of the discount seems to know no bounds. I hadn't expected it to take
place so soon, that it seemed as the weeks went by, I was pushed farther and farther away from writing.
At first the stunned silence post Mr. X was to be expected. The wound was glaring, a disappointing systemic shock which seemed better treated with quiet. A tiny holy lull to honor a leaf as it fell from a tree. Parting happens everyday to all sorts of people, an event so comfortingly common yet no less painful for either the tree or the leaf. Who is what? It doesn't really matter anymore, just that it happens.
We deal with how it echoes our prior losses and threatens future hopes. It takes our words, it makes us solemn. For a little bit.
FA on feathers, fangs, furies and all sorts of folly, yes, even the serious kind.
content copyright 2011
Yep, my life, my insanity, my copyright. If you like what you read, let me know :)
Did I use your image & attribute it incorrectly? Sorry! Let me know and I'll take it down. "Sssshhhh" image on blog header by Deborah Azzopardi. It's an amazing print now available thru Ikea.