Mornings that Glow

A warm rain falls all morning, steady and fluid. It’s presence washes the island, offering a bath for everything under the sun. Soils soften, plants drink, birds seek shade, and humans nestle cozy under roofs with teas and conversation. I decide to take a walk.

I cross a small mossy bridge that leads over a algae filled stream and onto the sand, and am greeted with a chirpy melody by a lively song bird who lives here. This is no ordinary song bird, and this isn’t our first time meeting. I have made this walk before, and have crossed through the gate that this feathered guardian keeps watch over. He is magic, and to enter into his paradise one must only take the moment to look into his deep purple eyes and listen to his song. I patiently listen to him sing, squawk, squeak, and make sounds that come from non other but from the same place stars are born. He sweeps his body back and forth, sways a bit, then lets out a bubbling shrill that only he knows how to create. He finishes his performance and bids me permission to enter the sands of his magical beach with a wink of his purple eye and a flap of his glowing feathers. The rain has softened, and the sand has been smoothed into a blanket of white, artfully contrasting the aqua green sea in the backdrop. I walk barefooted along the silken sand, appreciating its softness and its smoothness on the sole of my foot. Here on the sand I find a little abandoned beach hut, and have a seat under its palm thatched roof, sheltered from the rain.

I sit and listen contentedly to the small waves lap up on the shore. Their soothing sounds paint a tranquil setting and the serenity of this rainy day seeps from my pores. And then the magic of this place decides to speak.

A man calmly and tentatively walks along the sand. Slowly, he places one foot in front of the other, and taps a striped cane in front of him to feel his way. His eyes cannot see, but his patient movements along the soft white sand are confident and concise. He walks slowly past the hut where I am, and stops only a few feet between myself and the sea. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black cylindrical tube and carefully places it on the ground. He feels around, and piles some sand with his palms at the cylinder’s base as to ensure that it points upwards. He reaches into his pocket again, pulls out a lighter, leans and down towards the tube. With two hands he pats around, and after finding what he is looking for he lights a fuse, and paces a couple of steps backwards.

With a quick hiss the fuse lights, burns, and ignites the tube, upon which a large blast sounds and a plume of smoke rockets out. From the cloud of smoke emerges a brilliant spectacle of sparkling light, that soars into the sky, explodes, and pops into a million flashing crackling stars that reveal themselves for a moment before they too turn to smoke and disappear into nothingness.

With a shimmer on his face the man smiles, taps his cane on the ground in front of him, and continues walking down the beach.