I’ve been reaching far into the archives of hardbound journals with these latest posts.  Revisiting the years before I was a mother (but always longing for the day) when I was just discovering the world, new friends and my heart.

Days unfold here, now.  I still live on an island.  I spend the day with my dream child conceived with just one ovary.  As postcard snapshots from my past filter in the background, I try to remember to fully soak this present in.

The crunch of gold-orange corral under bare feet in tropic water.
The Joker card that Jeb found in the exposed roots of an Ironwood tree.
The Shama bird at sunset for its bird bath by our window.
One coconut, two straws underneath the Java plum.

On our night walk down our street, we meet a neighbor – the Honeyman – who lets Jeb hold the leash of his yellow labrador.  We keep the headlamp off and use our night vision past the Plumeria trees.

“Wanna see the honey house?”

Beneath rainbow colored prayer flags, state of the art equipment extracts nectar from the comb.  Vats of golden sweetness are pumped and bottled in this house.  The Honeyman bestows us with the latest batch and two homegrown avocados.  The labrador laps Jeb’s smiling face.

Walking back down our little road for home, two different tones of crickets sound beneath the stars.  Jeb walks beside me, headlamp still pocketed.

“I have my eyes closed.  I can’t see where I’m going.  I’m just using my senses.”

I try to seal the feel of seven-year old fingers as they reach out and brush my arm.