She 7.11.08

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of Cloudless climes and starry skies,
and all that´s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.
*Byron

But strength alone, though of the Muses born,
Is like a fallen angel, trees uptorn,
Darkness, and worm, and shrouds, and sepulchers
Delight it, for it feeds upon the burrs
And thorns of life, forgetting the great end
Of poesy, that it should be a friend
To soothe the cares, and lift the thoughts
Of man.
* Keats

Finally a short time of contemplative silence before it is broken yet again by the quick rapid fire words of an angry Nogbe mama or by the cries of a baby....or the continual questions of what I am or will be doing. I used to take solitude time so much for granted. IF I wanted to get away, all I had to do was head to the closest coffee shop where I could get absorbed for hours in a book or even more so with my thoughts. I find that if I do get up by at least 6 when the air is still cool and slip into my running clothe, I can walk sliently by the sea as much mesmerized by the sand as the stunning view. Those hours I cherish. I am not followed by children who demand money or an English lesson. The bright sun doesn´t bother me yet, but the chitre like always do. And there wandering lost on the beach, I begin to find my self again. Find myself against daily frustrations of language and culture. Finding myself when most things I find that hve defined me are lost in translation across an ocean and most known civilization. The time I have isn´t always amazing, but it is mine alone to wonder and cherish. If you took all your bearings away from you, your house, your car, your clothes, your job, your language, your sports, well what would define you?