Back on My Feet

 

I don’t know how it was possible. It just happened. Moments after my first dive into the blue waters of Ponta do Ouro my heart was racing again. And what magnificent racer my heart is!

 

Not long ago I wrote about how uncomfortable I feel with religion. For lapse I forgot to tell that long before, through a young playing companion, I was adopted by a Wirimu and a Vatbi, Macua gods of the sky and the sea. I don’t have to worship them. They hide somewhere in the immense skies and the deep seas, teaching the only prayers that fill my ears: be happy and be free.

 

Paul had previously decided that I wasn’t fit enough for the usual diving trip. I had to set for the snorkeling again, with the promise of returning in April. As sometimes he is right, I couldn’t fight him. Besides, he usually keeps his promises.

 

Anyway, he was so glad to see me smiling, looking good and well, that he said: “Your best day ever!”

 

Since I was merely enjoying my new found wellness, I cannot give many details of “my best day ever”. Chronically, I can remember: 1) Starting my day with a bird furiously knocking its beck against one of the windows. 2) Strawberries and champagne for breakfast. 3) Morning snorkeling. 4) Simple lunch at beach restaurant. 5) Back to snorkeling. 6) Home for bath and tea. 7) Long beach walk. 8) Dinner at a seafood restaurant, table 16. 9) Home for small cake, huge red candle, champagne, bit of talk and reading. 10) Acknowledging the opportunity of one of the gifts given to me. 11) Hoping bright sun for the next day.

 

Bet you never had a fist sized African spider walking over your birthday table!

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