island horizons & a sunset jogg with the sliver of the moon

So i am here again, enjoying the island and the open horizons in November. Walking along Matagorda bay in the sun and southern wind. And driving along the island roads, through villages, and through lava fields, towards la Hervideros, where the lava met the ocean. It's a wild place, a place of basic elements: Walter, Fire , Stone. So good to sit there, watch the waves rolling in endlessly, timelessly.

I brought the perfect read for being here, too: "Wild", the Memoiren of Cheryl Strayed who walked the Pacific Crest Trail, and walked through pain, from lost to found.

The Island also rought back an element of my life that hat been missing for the last weeks, since the operation: i finally could go jogging again. Such a bodily joy, To be able to be out there again in my jogging shoes, to feel that i am healing. And such nice timing: when I started, a cloud had moved in, but then the sky opened, and the moon appeared, together with hazy colored clouds, which stayed until I was back again, and could pick up the camera to take a photo.

And a memory, from last year - I thought of it while driving along the same road, listening to the same songs.

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Wednesday, November 27, 2013 
birds, waves, journeys

Birds and waves and the sun shining through clouds.

That’s what i saw when I looked out of the window this morning. I hadn’t really planned to step out of the door right away, with the wind blowing already, or rather: still blowing. But seeing the birds and the sun, like an installation of natural art, I just had to get out there, to walk along the bay.
Every couple of minutes, there was a new flock of seagulls appearing, surfing in the wind, passing by right above, as if there was a seagull meet-up further down the coast. As if they all knew something I didn’t know.

Seeing them brought back the memory of the migrating flock of storks in France, on their way to Africa. And the flock of swallows at home, gathering.

This fascination of flying. And of journeys. After all the work, this journey still feels slightly unreal. The way a shift of place changes the own view of things. The way that something that seemed so important now can wait another day. The way memories pop up, in unexpected places. Like in the island supermarket, when I picked a pot of Cup Noodles, and the memory of my first Cup Noodles flashed with it: Ireland that was. English summer school in Cork. Which also was my first trip by plane. And my first trip alone to another country.

 Another memory that returned today: while driving across the island, I listened to the battered CD I brought, “The Human Condition” by Richard Ashcroft. Bought in India. Played there, on a road through Rajasthan. Which didn’t look that different, seen like that: dusty fields. A white sun above.

All this road, going.