Today must be the 28th.
I'm losing track of the days - or dates, at least. I need to refer back into my diary for the odd date I've listed in order to keep some form of calendar reference.
I spent the first three to four hours of my day swinging in the hammock hanging outside the room of my pousada - reading, writing, reflecting, absorbing, registering and processing - under the high gaze of a coconut tree.
The long, narrow yard - of which I'm situated at the distant end - remains completely undisturbed from human presence. Sounds of laughter float through the air; occasional hammering greets me from over the neighborly fence; birds chirp and sing sweet melodies to each other in this tranquilo part of the world.
As I swing from side to side - pondering how my feet were able to attain such a deep stain of blackness which won't wash off - micro, soft birds hover in stand-still in the vibrant red tree beside me, sucking sweet nectar from their offerings, cross-pollinating and allowing the beauty of life to continue.
Two small birds speed past me in a dog-fight. More nectar is sucked. The circle of life continues.
