|This scene of Hanalei Beach looks out to a sleeping dragon-shaped mountain that inspired Peter, Paul, and Mary to interpret the song written by a friend, “Puff the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Hanalei.” There’s considerable speculation that the words to the song were mainly centered around smoking marijuana which grew prolifically in Hanalei. In the future, we’ll be writing more about Hanalei where many movies have been filmed over the years. Here’s a good video that further explains the shape of the dragon.|
When I was 12 years old I started writing poetry, shortly after my father passed away from a tragic accident. It’s ironic how creativity is often born of tragedy and sorrow. For years I wrote poetry with delusions that one day I’d be a great poet.
The heading in today’s post is a line from a poem I wrote at 12 years old that popped into my head as soon as I awoke this morning after a fitful night of tossing and turning. I blamed it on too much hot tea late yesterday, excess caffeine having a profound effect on my sleep.
|A colorful Adirondack chair behind a rope fence.|
It’s not as if I’m worried about anything in particular. Oh, you know, we all worry about this and that, impeding our ability to sleep. I’m certainly no exception. If I don’t have anything to worry about, which I don’t, I can always conjure up a shortlist to keep me busy while wide awake at 3:00 am.
With upcoming travels in mind, flights on small planes, long distances, and the unknown as to the quality of where we’ll be living, a litany of worry options is always readily available.
|This puff flower was no larger than the size of a dime. It’s fun to notice the “little things.”|
Why didn’t I pursue becoming a poet? Life, as they say, got in the way; married at 17, a mom at 19, divorced at 26, owning a business, two boys to raise on my own, leaving little time for dreaming of poetry.
And now, why don’t I do it now? Why don’t I write the book I dreamed of writing for most of my life? I certainly have the time. By 11:00 am each morning, I’m done posting here leaving my only task for the remainder of the day to get out to take photos for the next day’s post, a pleasant task we do more days than not.
|This tiny blue flower was smaller than the size of a pea. Zooming in I noticed this sweet looking bloom.|
What else do I have to do? Cook a little dinner? Watch Dr. Phil at 3:00 pm while we’re still in the US? Go to the pool and fitness center? Set the table for dinner using dish towels for linen napkins and placemats when none others are on hand?
Oh, dear, I don’t mean to sound boring. I am never bored, not for a minute. This little brain has a magical way of entertaining me one way or another if merely a flash of apathy wanders through its neurons. Instantaneously, I twirl on my heels and a new idea pops into my conscientiousness and I’m off on a new tangent, excited, energized, and interested.
|In Hawaii, many trees produce berries that proliferate into new leaves and flowers.|
I decided against writing the book. Most certainly, we’d have plenty of fodder for what may prove to be moderately appealing to the growing senior population as to the nuances of travel for us older folks, whether short or long term. But, I’ve totally lost interest in writing the book.
If we got a publisher (for which we’ve been approached) or if we self-published (popular these days) it would seem like the dreaded WORK. Nothing, money nor notoriety, could possibly appeal enough to either of us to put ourselves in a position feeling as if we’re working again. Nothing.
|It’s hard to imagine that at future points in our travels, we won’t be a stone’s throw from a beach.|
As for poetry? Ah, that desire is long gone. I don’t have enough angst in my life these days to be able to translate that pain and sorrow into poetic prose. Nor, would I want to summon up the sorrowful memories of decades long passed. I’m too happy now to write poetry other than occasional playful, rhyme-ful, iambic pentameter. Those days are long gone.
Fulfillment? What does that look like now? It looks like this life The simplicity of idle time, the simplicity of taking photos, the simplicity of observing wildlife, scenery, and vegetation fill my heart to the brim.
|Hibiscus, Hawaii’s state flower, are everywhere, growing throughout the year. This was surely the largest Hibiscus we’d seen to date, larger than a baseball glove and the first we’d seen in this gorgeous shade of orange.|
Then, his companionship; the lively banter, the romantic moments and the touch of a hand ever so lightly, coupled with an eye crinkling smile easily fills in any possible gaps if, but for a second I may wonder, I may question, “Is this really my life? How did I get so lucky?”
Tom says it’s not luck. It’s a lifetime of hard work and planning. But, I look at it more esoterically, as being a gift from heaven bestowed upon me for patience, perseverance and above all, for hope.
|The lovely beach overlooking the dragon.|
Writing here each morning, come “Hell or high water” so they say, has filled me with a deep sense of fulfillment, added to all of the above, that makes me incapable of deserving, or of taking, a moment to pine, to worry, to lay awake at night conjuring up worries. So what if I have a fitful night that seemed “never-ending?”
The morning light offers up a new day to embrace with awe, wonder, and gratefulness and, boredom, dear readers, is never on the agenda.
Photo from one year ago today, March 28, 2014:
|The riad in Marrakech was filled with mirrors. We counted 17 as we took photos of many of them to post one year ago today. For more photos, please click here.|