Oh I can’t possibly get a darn thing done today. This rain is the rain that helps you make excuses for everything. Sure I could put on my raincoat and boots. I could easily hop on my bike to trek into town. The mile and a half is nothing for my quadruple decade body that calls it my exercise now.

It has to be done at some point today. I have to get to the lonely rickety bus stop that may not even be open when I arrive. I’m quite used to that surprise. There is a 4:30 AM bus ticket waiting for my colones. It’s the cheapest way to to go to the silver bird flying to the desert I once called home. The pull to go there is for the people. I’ve already heard the voice this morning of the woman who will be waiting. She is worth everything to me even if it means this paradise I leave.

The pull to stay here is for this now drenched nature. My senses want to absorb it all. The geese at my back fence are dancing and singing. There is bullfrog at my feet taking shelter under my seat. I tell him to go. He should love the water but for some reason these frogs – sticky feet ones, giant wart covered ones and the tiny baby who came in last night to bathe in my dog’s water bowl – they like the home of the author of “The Year of the Frog.” Even my attempts to explain to them that year is long gone makes them croak like they know something more. At least at this point I don’t recall.

These hazy days want me to write. The smell thick with earth absorbing nature all the way down. The breeze coming off the cooled drops chills the skin so used to massive heat this feels like precious air conditioning. The sound taps the roof that will not leak like a drum and makes a high pitch drip inside from the places that will forever allow the water in despite my attempted repairs. Moisture feels the air with an ease that tastes like change.

Possibly just my perception, but the birds are chirping a different song and the monkey with the baby on her back is near enough to see me. She is watching hard not to protect her little one, but to teach her something about me. I can see her giving instruction. I only hope she is saying it’s okay, this lady loves us all enough to keep us safe.

If you have not lived in “Neverland” you might not understand.  But the creatures come here often to announce the season in my home.  I said goodbye to hopefully the last of dry season scorpion last week. I do not look forward to the yearly sting he brings summoning the end of the rains. But I am learning to see it as a reminder to stay alert to everything.

The crabs come up the hill and will forever baffle me as to why they want inside my home. What is it they could possibly get they can’t find outdoors? The first one comes in unannounced then brings with him a dozen friends. They make click clack noises in the night. It keeps me up at first but then I learn to let it go like his claws when he can’t compete.  It is funny now to recall the first time he lost an arm. I thought I had caused permanent damage trying to lure him out unharmed.

I take the lessons as the sun now peaks and cherish the teacher who sits at my feet. Grabbing my boots for the next rain shower. I prepare to bike in and get that ticket. The lessons of nature will forever stick like the mud I am about to trek.

Rain comes and rain goes. Love it or hate it, it is necessary for growth. Kiss frogs and you will get frogs. So expect nothing to change but yourself. Touch something mindlessly and get stung. But remember the stings of life though shocking and painful are always temporary. Let go. Because to hold on in fear you may lose an arm. Let go, I now whisper to my over-focused mind. If holding on is tearing you apart, let go. Your loving arms do not regrow. ~ Juls ❤

 

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