A perfect day

It’s four o’clock, and I’m arriving home after work at the fields. The two loyal and admirable kind companions that follow me wherever I go jump from the back of the pickup and run up to the patio, where they expect their meals served daily. Happily wiggling their long tails like grey propellors, running off with their long legs as if their lives depend on it. They are leafing footprints in the sandy path as if lions just passed by trying to catch the hinds that room our garden in the morning.

I look at the old trees in the back of the garden and hear the beautiful orchestra of birds, beetles, frogs and children laughing; I listen to waves of water and a soft breeze whispering in leaves of all shades of green. I smell wood, flowers, grass, salty, humid humus, the remains of the open fire pit that lit yesterday’s outside dinner, and the mesmerising scent of freshly baked bread.

I pull off my boots, put them in the back of the truck, and walk barefoot to the wooden house easily and joyfully. I smile, inside and outside, knowing the presence of my love, wondering what treasures she discovered today, curious about her stories and pathways of her butterflied day. Our house is a well-proportioned group of open spaces scattered along the edges of ancient tropical forests at the flattened slopes of gentle hills. Most spaces have large and high windows overlooking the rainforest in the east, high sealings with old wooden beams and sunlight beaming straight in, especially at the north side of the house where we have our creative workspaces, where we experiment and design our work of arts. There, she keeps her collection of food treasures, ingredients of all sorts, species, fragrances, and textures, and her collections of tools and instruments to create the most stunning and exceptional tasting food that she serves our friends and people who come and stay with us to enjoy the fantastic views, the tranquillity and purity of long shared understandings and the beautiful creations of my love.

Walking in, I bump into my oldest mother, who lives with us in the west wing chambers. She is a guide and inspiration for all who enter our house and has been my guardian angel for as long as I can remember. She’s old, almost transparent, ever present even if she is outside working in a garden of wonders, telling stories about the freshly planted herbs or humming songs to the sweet-smelling fruits ready to be harvested and eaten by all.

I hug her on her way out, of course, and she replies with a smile, laying her soft, warm hands for a moment on my head before she walks out, doing her afternoon walk alongside the cliffs overlooking the shore and the softly breaking water waves of the turquoise tinted see. She will not go far, just enough to reach her throne, as we named it, an old fallen tree trunk that is so comfortable for resting while gazing at the horizon and the ever-changing spectacular sunsets. She walks out, leaving a fresh scent of jasmine and coriander and a warm spot on my head.

I call for my love; honey, I’m home; where is my beautiful butterfly? I smile again, knowing she knows I’m home, even before I enter. She will look at me, smile, kiss and hug me before we set to the kitchen to prepare our evening dinner. I prepare the table, this time on the porch; I ring the bell on the patio to call all in for our evening table. I ring the bell for the men and women who work with us; I call our guests; I call the young adults and students who stay with us to join our dinner table. Some reply with a yel, some by whistling a short ancient tune of a song our old mother taught us. It is a concise, happy tune of gratitude, a joyful tune of grace with a short thrill that expresses the happy anticipation for the dinner to share with all, for the music that will be heard, for the expressive tastes that we enjoy and for the stories of all sorts we share. I call the dogs to take  their place at their seats, passing the stables where we shelter the horses and donkeys.

Before I go in, I collect the notes I left from yesterday’s meeting with one of our new young talents at my study. I intend to use the notes if we hit the time to prepare our schedules for tomorrow, just before we serve the food. Occasionally, I will speak after my love answers the call to reveal the secrets of tonight’s cooking. She warms up the group with laughter; she excites them with the tasty treats she so naturally and carefully prepares.

After the praise of oohs and aahs and other expressions of appreciative expectations, it is my turn to share my notes, primarily words that express translations of the inspiring words from the conversations, talks and consultations of my morning sessions, just before I go off to the fields. Then it is up to the group, the dinner, the evening, the songs of nature, and the unexpected to colour our dinner and feel even more gratitude for all the abundant sparkles the day so gently revealed.

My perfect day – is my answer to the homework assignment from the 5 Days of Manifesting #Abundance course by Peter Sage: “Describe your perfect day.” Setting the stage for the #destination and #path to grasp the #concept of your #goal and your map, #guiding you through live #abundantly.