My alarm went off this morning just as the first fingers of sunlight began to sneak their way stealthily around the edges of the window curtain. No, I don’t set an alarm. Every morning the night security guard, after his graveyard shift, starts his motor cycle not too far from my room, and revs it up. That’s when I wake up.
So, I popped out of bed and went for a walk north along the beach, as is my habit at least every second morning. I’m happy to report that there is lots of sand on the beach, even more than when I was here in December, and the beach up in front of Beaches lives up to its name, and then some. But the moon is in its waxing Gibbous phase, so one would expect the water to be down a little. So all the Apocalyptoes can chill out for a while, until the next storm comes and moves the sand around. Then the cries of ‘the sky is falling’ will once again be heard on this board.
The water was a bit rough for my morning swim, its windy today, but it was so nice to get into the water.
Today I stocked the larder. Went into town and visited my favorite market stand, just past the Devon Ice cream stand a likkle way up a road that leads up to RedGround. As I approached, I heard a lone male singing in a clear, modulated voice – a hymn praising the Lord. I kept walking, drawing closer;
“There’s not one broken vessel that God, can’t mend”
I spotted the man; he was dreadlocked, sitting over a small, smoking cook fire over which sat a steaming pot. He was slicing vegetables into the pot as he sang. He sang in a slow rhythm as he worked. I stopped at the beginning of the row of fruit and vegetable stands. It was quiet and tranquil. The sun dappled the ground around, smoke curled up from the cook fire. I looked around. A lady nearby was peeling ackee into a bucket between her knees, she sang quietly along with the man. Other ladies sat, some in quiet contemplation, some hummed. It was a far cry from the usual banter that one normally hears in the market. I felt as if I’d walked into a church service. The man’s voice washed soothingly over the small market.
I went to a stand and quietly did my shopping. As I paid the vendor for the coconuts I’d selected, she said, “God bless you.”
I walked out onto the road feeling blessed, the man’s voice followed me; the rhythm was calming, almost hypnotic. As I approached the Sav road I saw a man sitting, hunched over on a broken concrete wall. He looked downtrodden, homeless, derelict; not uncommon in Negril. At the sight of him my elevated mood collapsed. As I neared the traffic circle and entered the hustle and bustle of centre Negril, I was firmly back in reality.
This afternoon I'm off to Moonlight Villas to visit with Mark And Cheryl.
LayTah!
