I sit on my hammock.
Not in the usual way.
I’m not lying in it, but rather I’m sitting in it with my feet on the ground and rocking back and forth.
I hear the waves breaking. But I cannot see them.
I hear the pling of stray rain drops on our metal roof.
And a motorcycle on the Chocolata.
A flock of parakeets squawks past.
A gecko makes its cricket noise.
I see green. A jungle of green.
And I see empty white houses, their owners elsewhere, waiting for tourists to fill them.
I see the Christ Statue on top of the headland, his arm outstretched in constant blessings.
I have not heard bombas, the incredibly loud firecrackers which the faithful set off in acknowledgement of God performing a miracle, in a very long time. Does that mean that God has stopped performing miracles?
The waves continue to break.
The birds and the dragonflies still fly overhead. And the ants keep carrying their petals.
So I’m guessing the answer is: Surely not.
