It’s the craziest thing, being tucked in to bed in my tiny home in the middle of a 3 million person city. The silence is making me sad. In contrast to the chorus of tree frogs that sang me to sleep each night and the staccato of bird song to which I woke to each morning — I’m so surprised how very quiet this American life of mine is.
This tree shaded my bedroom windows. It is the perfect tree — large limbs reaching toward the sky in a dozen directions, home to a handful of bird nests.
I miss this tree. And the giant hardwoods down by the river. And the flamboyant trees in full fiery orange glow. And even the dumb, non-native eucalyptus trees that line the roads on the tea estates.
I’m in a bit of a post-vacation funk, one that can only be described as self-absorbed and pathetic. All the same, I’m looking at my holiday photos with such desire to return! Take more! Feel that African sun warm my face and the rain cool my flip flopped toes. Alas, this is as close as we are coming today to those glorious gardens, where I spent days reading, day dreaming and watching the butterflies and dragonflies compete in one triumphant pageant of biology.