I really want to write. I like the physical act of writing and I like finding words and phrases. So I bought myself a pretty new book with blank pages and I got out my favourite pen and I opened the book and waited for the flow. Nothing happened. I waited some more. Still nothing. I smoked a cigarette and waited some more. Still waiting. So while I am waiting for something to write about I will tell you what I see when I look out the window.
I see the mountains that are Dominica, ancient volcanoes standing proud and tall. There is nothing subtle about these mountains. The peaks and valleys and ridges are distinct. The furthest away is dark. Mist and clouds negotiate their way around the top. It is this range I look to every morning to decide if I should take an umbrella or not.
In front of this falls another mountain also dark, but with streaks of sunlight on its west face. This range becomes a group of undulating hills which disappear behind another mountain. This one is in full sunlight; there are shadows of clouds sliding over it.
These ranges seem to drop directly into the sea giving way to another power. But no, they do not give way at all. They steadfastly continue. The ocean merely floods the valleys and covers the mountain tops. Coral grow on them instead of coconut and banana. Fish live there instead of people.
Now that I think of it, Dominica is all sky, mountain, ocean: earth, air, water. and frequently connected by a rainbow.