Fisaga sleeps in our silent house this morning. Silence here is the constant riffle, rumble or roar of the waves as backdrop to the sound of roosters celebrating sunrise and the pigs and dogs grumbling themselves awake. Umu smoke shrouds the house, hiding sky and sea, clearning only after the cooking fires have taken hold.
Church bells begin to cll the village to worship.
Pagans need not respond. I've dreamed of running away to an ocean for forty years or so. Ten years ago I found the island, but it was just a few weeks ago that I found my house on the beach. In quiet moments I watch and listen, trying to learn the rhythms and melodies of my bit of ocean. To my surprise, I find its tenacity annoying sometimes.