…rainy day on Kauai. Morning started wet and cold and got wetter and colder.  I’ve lived in the tropics for so long my blood has turned to ice water. This is not to say I’m cold-blooded, I’m not, it’s just that cold snaps hit hard.

My jungle dripped, the animals complained, wet hens tend to be huffy, but the big news is Ari beat me back to the barn. He actually broke into a canter. So good to see big red bouncing coltish. Think he was warning his old bones. His favorite spot under the plum, in a bed of thick yellow and brown leaves was almost a sponge. He ate, carrots, bran, alfalfa cubes, salt and bran, then meandered  down and plopped. He actually gave me a dirty look-his eyes narrowed and his ears twitched- as if he blamed me for the chilly  soak.  I think I live in the second to the wettest spot on earth.  Mt. Waialeale to the north of me is actually the wettest but sometimes it doesn’t seem like it.

The white orchid-like  heads of the walking Iris on the bank, the third wall of my computer room where I’m sitting in velvety blue sweat, socks,  and darling red booties, have fallen off and lie on the ground in a disgruntled snit. They’re kicking their heels and If they could talk I’ll bet the words would blister. The Lawai fern and wild fern look happy, though,  green and bold and snappy and I can watch the mold grow on the tree trunks and admire the red mushroomy toadstools that look like ears and sprout on anything handy.  They smell like tired old stream beds rushing.

Out in front, Duke tries to break into  song. I’ve never head him do that before. I think he’s trying to cheer us up. The sky is dark and low and threatening and the weather  report calls for flash flooding ’til tomorrow. The birds are tweeting, whistling and chirping. Lots of bird talk. A red cardinal flittered  low along the bank and a pair of brown and black thrush, darting and dashing, chased each other through the branches of the holly berry.

Duke just called for Beauregard, the name of my long dead precious leopard Appaloosa. The first time he did it, soon after he arrived, I almost fainted, I’d not used the word nor spoken to him about Beau, but it turned out he had a friend, another macaw, named Beauregard,  so it wasn’t my old friend’s spirit playing tricks.

Still slightly amused by my calling card with the BETTEJO address-http://bettejo.wordress.com/- and an invitation to visit across from the Forum page in the Garden Island snuggled comfortably on the bottom of the local Obituaries heap. I’ve instructed my kids that when I croak they are to place the card, in color, blue sky and fluffy white clouds, with a different address in the same spot;  but, meanwhile, just to spite my many detractors, here I am at the moment alive and well and kicking.

I’ll try to have a snappier column ready for tomorrow. ‘Til then signing off.  Peace and love ME


2 Responses

  1. I miss you. Reading of Beauregard memories suddenly flooded through me.

    Happy Holidays
    Love Cassie Dux


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