Running With Anguilla. On Christmas Day.

~ Live & Learn

palm-trees

“What are the winter months?”

The cab driver chuckled.  “You’ve not been to Anguilla Sir?”  He paused and continued.  “There are no winter months, Sir.”

Who you callin’ Sir? Aha. Old and stupid. 18° 15′ North – standing on the Equator. No seasons.

That was a week ago. It’s 6:10 am.  52° F.  We’re trudging up a severe incline at Mianus River Park in Connecticut, back to reality.  It’s Christmas Day.  391 acres. No humans, no superficial chit chat – ISTJ magic. Squirrels, Zeke and me.  He’s at my heels, the clanking of his steel tags breaking the morning silence.  He’s panting. I’m heaving.

It was a week ago.  It was 82° F, gusty, the fronds on the palm trees slapping.  Anguilla’s beach, fine white sand sifting through your toes, walking on cotton.  The sea is warm, clear, the white sand carpets the ocean floor.  I’m floating on a thick foam mattress, the tropical winds sashay the hammock.  Wispy clouds, paintings, lazily pass overhead.  If there was heaven….

That was a week ago. It’s a muddy track from the rains. Footing is sloppy.  The Sun is working to burn through the clouds. Mist is rising from the earth.  I’m over layered, overdressed and overheating during this December heat wave.  And there’s Anguilla. Ever present. But, could you live there?

It was a week ago. Sea, sand, and weather anchored in a 75° – 85° F range, all year long.  Gentle trade winds blow.  And you friend, what say you?  You were Gordon Lightfoot’s caged bird: “Like the trembling heart of a captive bird.” 

Sweat gushes, I stop to catch my breath. Zeke circles back to join me. We sit on a stone overlooking the woods in the valley.

Give me my woods and the toe stubs on roots.
Give me the turned ankles on uneven rocks and the tumbles into the dark soil and hard earth.
Give me gray overcast days, the full cloud cover, and the misty mornings.
Give me drizzle, fat rain drops, and freezing rain.
Give me my seasons, the smoky autumns, the sub zero January days and the anxious anticipation of spring.

We get to the car. I look over at Zeke, who is swishing his tail waiting for his treat. I pull out four salted almonds, and hand them to him one at a time.  He looks up with his sad eyes, expecting more.

“Bud, enough.  More than enough.  Let’s go Home.”

Heaven can wait.

Notes:

30 thoughts on “Running With Anguilla. On Christmas Day.”

  4. “Give me my seasons, the smoky autumns, the sub zero January days and the anxious anticipation of spring.” yes, i am still here too. love a short respite now and then, to those dreamy, warm, sunny climes, but always yearn to come back to the seasons, where i can feel life more fully –

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  6. Just last night we debated going away next Christmas. My husband suggested going someplace warm to get our scuba certification. My 17-year-old son reacted vehemently against the notion of spending the winter holidays at the beach. It was an almost primal reaction.

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  8. I’m happy you got a good break in the soothing equatorial climate and the beautiful scenery! Reading you great writing, I’m also convinced the nature of magic is universal. It seems to apply equally to an ISTJ and ENFP.

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  13. “If there was heaven”…. There are heaven’s all over the world (just coming back from one) and although we think we only want that, we need change. The shift in seasons and change in pace, helps us learn, grow and listen. Glad you had some time in your heaven. 🙂

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