My sense of time dissipates. The only reference I have now is the church bell. And the cackle of the hens and the crowing of the cocks. Otherwise, I would think dinnertime is still hours away.
My wristwatch has become more of a frill. More of a tan gauge. Under the strap, the tan line reminds me how, months earlier, my skin used to be shades lighter.
I am seated in the small terrace that opens to an unkempt atrium, with a mug in one hand. This is my favorite spot in the house. Just enough. Just as private. What separates me from the anteroom of the house is the glass curtain. Once in a while, one of the kids knocks and hides behind the glass, rousing me from this stupor.
In front of me, just off-center, beyond the perimeter fence, is a cow grazing. Its black color sharpens the contrast between its hide and the grass and the shrubs that shoots in every direction.
My feet dangles by the railing. And it hurts a little. It’s the holidays I blame. I’m supposed to drop by the Municipal Library earlier. Not knowing it’s closed today, I kept my pace until I reached the far end of the town. There’s a river with row of houses on its bank. But the thick foliage makes it uninviting.
As I backtracked my way, a habal-habal—the local means of public transport in the hinterlands—was on its way to the town with 5 passengers and the driver. I opted to keep walking.
Not content, I trod a dirt road arched with coconut leaves and lanzones. Round the bend, an old woman graciously provided me with directions until I reached the next busy road. Busy it was. It led to the town cockpit arena and the public swimming pool and well, ahem… an All-Terrain Vehicle rental shop! tee-hee!