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cynthia, I have night walks like that in my memories, too.

There is a very soft wind from the sea about a block away, there is a mist in that wind from the sea crashing on the rocks of the cliff there. I'm on a grassy hill above my house, tree frogs are searching for love all over the hillside, furry critters are scurrying through the grasses and there is a very romantic old record playing on the player on our front porch, a Henry Mancini album, right now.

Falling down the hillside to where I'm standing are tiny ribbons of drum beats slipping out of the Macumba Temple on the hilltop. Cigar smoke drifts down from the Temple and I can sometimes smell the wonderful food offerings that they are placing on their altar up there.

I turn around and face the other direction and see Cristo, the huge statue of Christ with his arms open wide, floating in a soft light in the sky over the city. The mountain that he stands upon is not visible and he just hangs there. I hug myself. I hear our maid giggling in the side garden with her boyfriend, hear the kids all dancing on the front porch to the old song "Hands Across the Table" and love the loneliness that I'm feeling. I also feel that it is a dream, not real, so foreign to my previous life.

Thanks for making me remember that night.

posted by benzinha on March 15, 2004 at 10:31 PM | link to this | reply