I see it in my mind’s eye. This place at the top of a hill and at the end of a winding road. A road with space only for a bicycle or maybe a motor cycle.
But who would want to shatter the silence with the noise of a motor cycle?
What strikes me first is the light. It is every where. Highlighting and transforming the faded into the vivid. I could hide behind my sunglasses but I will let the shade of my open palm suffice.
The narrow, winding road is dusty, and it is close to noon. I see the figure of a woman ahead of me. Back straight. Head wrapped to balance the basket being supported by her right hand, resting squarely in the middle.
I can feel the cold stones of the floor beneath my feet already, although I am only half way there. Find myself exhaling too at the thought of standing in the doorway looking straight ahead, over the rails of the veranda, my eyes feasting on the blue, blue waters. Watching the white gulls gliding.
I am heading for the red chair with the deep seat and firm, large cushions, where I invariably sit with one foot curled under. I will pause in the kitchen, on my way to that apple red chair, to collect the jug, half filled with tart lemonade made the day before. Fill a glass taken from the cabinet above the sink with ice but delay taking a sip until I am seated. Sit. Sip. Exhale. Relax. Glass in one hand. Jug now resting within reach on the floor. Now I close my eyes. The view imprinted on my eye lids, a soft cool breeze on my left cheek. Not an ounce of tension anywhere in this 5′ 6″ frame. And I smile deep and I smile long.