pajarita y coyote en el caribe

what have i to say

you may have noticed my quietude this past winter and spring. against my wishes, my beloved practice of writing left me. it departed quietly, without a word. i’ve felt like i’m in an empty waiting room, with no thoughts or stories raising their hands, impatiently waiting their turn to be expressed. it has slowly dawned on me that i am experiencing writer’s block. how embarrassing that i didn’t recognize it right away. but really, this is the first time we’ve met. i’d imagined writer’s block to be much more substantial— much more, well, “blocky”. instead, for me, it is a wispy, shadowy character. an absence. ah well. a wise poet friend has come to the rescue, and inspired me to sign up for a poetry writing workshop this summer at esalen, in big sur. i am excited about going. and a bit nervous. it will be the first time i’ve really exposed myself to feedback (criticism!) from a teacher, and from other writers. it will be good. fred & i once again left coyote at the rio dulce, guatemala, for the hurricane season. i love the movement and stillness of sailing. it is an honor to live on the ocean. i love being out of sight of land, and then coming back. it is wondrous to swim in clear, warm water, to see healthy and colorful coral communities. i am very happy that i didn’t lose my right index finger in the windlass, and that it has healed so well. after the boat was put away i went on to costa rica to spend two weeks with my eldest son. he built me a small thatched roof house to hang a hammock in, with a yoga deck. i surfed waves. i had a sweet encounter with a long lost friend who had aged into a wizened leprechaun, who died the next night in his sleep with a smile on his face. i saw new babies. i zipped around on a 4wd quad. i reconnected with a community that will always be a home to me. and then, several days ago, i landed back in mendocino. it is delightful. being back on the land, with the garden and animals and giant redwoods, huge kitchen and lengthy hot showers, is like playing on a giant playground. mira the dog and flower the cat are bounding about. the plump hens are greedily eating up wild radish weeds from the garden and plopping out orange yolked eggs. the bees are bringing honey and pollen to the hive. we ride bicycles on the old haul road by the beach. fred mows the lawn. we go to flea markets and storytelling nights, and reunite with friends. ~robin~