The sound of the waves hitting the reef is loud. The Trade Winds have picked back up so a breeze makes the Palm Trees dance in rhythm. Thin wisps of white clouds roll over a baby blue sky. The sun is a bright yellow orb. Hummingbirds dart in and out of the lush green foliage. I sit alone watching it all.
I have hung a set of wind chimes outside of the tiny studio that I’ve called home for the past two weeks. It is a blue crystal hummingbird holding up silver and blue chimes with a smaller bird suspended from the bottom. It dances and sings for me and I find that I am mesmerized by it.
It is a relic of the past. Representing love, romance and companionship that used to be mine, I hang it up every time that I am here. It is a thing of beauty, both delicate and sturdy. I suppose that is why I hold on to it and go through the ritual of choosing the right place for it to be placed. It reminds me of what was.
My friend Conner came busting into my room this morning waking me up to tell me goodbye. The taxi had arrived an hour early for them. I stumbled outside to find Hania making English Muffins and peanut butter determined that she feed me one more time before they leave. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and brush my fingers through my hair. In no time at all they are gone. I didn’t eat.
Conner talked me into coming here at this time. Normally I would have waited until the end of the year but he was determined and I would do most anything for him and Hania. Like always he and I made mischief while Hania and I had long thoughtful conversations about …what used to be.
I also did my best to inform them about my life now. New love and new adventures await. We make plans to see one another after the first of the year. I have to be in South Florida then and they want to return to Tybee Island for another visit.
I sit alone now celebrating the time that we had together. I am also thankful that my carnival of friends back home want me to return; it is good to be missed. There is a great deal to do when I get back as I have a future to build that already is very different from what used to be. It is mine for the molding and I close my eyes and imagine how I want it to be. I think that we create our lives in the same way that artists paint or sculpt. We start with some notion of what we want and then it takes us to places we never would have dreamed.
Last night we all gathered for the Last Supper with one another. The thing about Last Suppers is that you know once you’re done with them, they signify an ending; to a trip or a relationship or a Savior. A muteness hung in the air even though we laughed and drank wine and danced. Today it is part of what was.
I have a few hours to myself in this place that I love before I travel to the other side of St. Martin to catch the plane that will take me home to Tybee Island. When I get there I will put my arms around Goddess and take her to Shirley’s sad little holy dock. I resume my seat at the Breakfast Club and the Bored meeting. I’ll go back to Johnny O and Judy’s porch. I’ll resume the things that I love.
This has been a good trip for me though it has been far different from all of the other times that I’ve been here. The wind chimes have now stopped singing. That part of my life is over. I find that I am full of anticipation for the love that awaits when I return.
