Back in (and on) the land of the living

Well, it took me a little time to get over that last post. Details are available but not necessary to understand this blog has evolved into being off Magpie, but still cruising on land in the Dominican Republic and my experiences here. So, not being damaged from that last experience, I am finding that it allowed me to open up more, instead of less. I have reconnected with people in my past, from as far back as 1972, to high school, nursing school, personal and professional aquaintences, and even my ex-husband, so in my best PollyAnna voice, I find myself saying that something good comes from everything, all things happen for a reason. The rose colored glasses are on and I am moving forward. Or maybe just getting older and nostalgic. Not necessarily mature. And still reaching out, hoping that there is intelligent life here on Earth... I am in yet another different landscape here, in a country so full of micro-climates and very non-Caribbean terrain.It is drier here, but the gardens are still amazing, the mountains still abrupt in their ascent, the plains still African inspired. I overlook a hillside that reminds me of Andalusia , and a valley I am constantly disappointed not to see giraffs loping across. I went for a long involved run yesterday that put me by an abandoned shack on a hillside overlooking a drying riverbed, cattle, and I took the cattle's path down to the dirt road, thinking how fortunate I am to be here, to see each object as I pass, each plant, cow, butterfly, raucous bird. Each fencepost and rusty wire. I am touched at how they have a sence of importance in this snapshot. As I pass onto the dusty road a boy on a bicycle passes me, as if he has never seen a white woman jogging by, he goes to wake up his grandfather sleeping on a bench in the kiosk. Dominicans are sleeping, eating, passing time in the shade as I plod by. They wave, I am offerred a ride, 'Bola?' with grins. I comment on thier cool decorated porches, more grins and stares. I climb over a gate to avoid the extra half mile of dusty road and go up the hill towards my house. It is hot, sunny and beautiful, a strong breeze kicking up from the East... I pass more important parts of the snapshot,posterized as if by a drop of acid, a handmade rock turret, complete with rounded hobbit door, long abandoned to guard the hillside of horses. They stare at me, unmoving, ready to bolt, should I give to their direction. A bundle of sticks tied together, dropped by another passerby, the ubiquitous plastic drink bottle to remind me of the present . ...and I am in love with the mix, the saddness, and the joy, the tightening leg muscles and pouring sweat. Next time I promise not to bring a camera to spoil what I feel and downsize it to a different snapshot of this rural wild place.