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.