Friday, February 5, 2010

Notes from the Island of Women

The east side of our suite overlooks a cemetery; morbid, perhaps, but painted in bright colours, its monuments and little buildings covered in silk flowers and commemorations of he or she who rests there, it's not.  It really is quite lovely.  

There's a school across the street from this cemetery, and at lunch time, children run and play among the headstones and miniature mausoleums.  Screeching and hiding, dodging one another, the place is part of the community, and one not soaked in misery.  

Today I stood at our bedroom window and gazed down upon a woman who appeared to be making a regular visit to two particular graves.  She carried a purse and wore a uniform, popping by like we do Starbucks on our lunch break.  She spent precisely 30 seconds at each plot, just a few paces apart, her head down in dutiful prayer.  Then she left hurriedly, as if she had other errands to run before scurrying back to her post at a nearby hotel or restaurant.

And west?  Cancun on the horizon, and heaven between us.  


  1. Im sitting in NYC freezing cold. Enjoy!

  2. That third paragraph almost just made me cry. Why? I have no idea. But it did.