Waiting for...parts- An absurdist in Port Phaeton

“ESTRAGON: I can't go on like this.

VLADIMIR: That's what you think.” 

― Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

Three weeks ago, Port Phaeton was just another lovely bay, with a wonderful grocery store.

A place to stop-over, restock on UHT milk and peanut butter, and then move onto other things.

We sailed away, with a song and a wave,

but this place had not finished with us...

?

We had not realized, there is a magical undoing here,

and that to come back, is to be swallowed whole.

Maybe

The surrounding mountains are filled with Sorcerers.

The wind blows, 

there is more rain,

the sun shines,

the bay becomes glass.

The stars come out and tribal drums beat late into the night.

(i'm not even kidding )

Jon orders parts off the internet and goes for long jogs.

French customs confound us,

through thick coils of cigarette smoke, 

they make all things impossible.

 (apparently, this is their job)

We meet tortoises and adopt a tern,

who shits his body-weight every five minutes.

I teach science to the kids, 

we learn about coral reefs,

we play guitar,

 eat tropical fruit.

Mostly, we wait.

It cannot be figured out.

No matter how we look at it.

When it happens, 

it will be that.

The part will work.

Or it won't.

These things have changed us forever.

?

Mom and Dad
(Jon surprises me with roses)