Door of perception

The carved wooden entryway was open. I followed my childhood into it. Memories leaped out. Tropical trees, the rustling of the breeze passing through, heavy rains in stone gutters and the turtle, our pet, that lived there. I saw my mother, and my dad passed through. My brother and I racing around the garden. There were mangoes and rice and crispy fish. Smells wafting, drifting, familiar.

Dusk

Dusk. It's my favourite time of day. It doesn't mean the end of the day; for me it means the beginning, the start. I can relax and leave behind the day's work. Relax and switch to the night's coming. A beer, a book. Bali. Wherever I am, dusk is the same. I become awake with its coolness. I get hungry and restless. I stir. I wake. I want.