In Sigatoka after picking green pumpkins barefoot as the heavens turned the farm into a lake of mud yesterday and this morning. Learned that driving through Fijian mud is like traversing ice: Hold the wheel lightly and visualize where you want to go -- mechanical attempts are futile. Delivered four bags of perfect produce to the market, where I just bought mangoes, googoolas and buja for Nani.
Fiji lays just west of the international dateline. Its sunrise is the world's earliest, meaning I was among the first to wake to a combination of calendar letters and numbers that has scarred many souls.
This morning, feet deep in Fijian Island mud, my heart recalled the concrete, glass and steel of the toughest island on the planet: My beloved Manhattan Island.
Remember the fallen.
1 comment:
it's raining in NY today
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