I have woken first. I sit at the table on the porch of my aunt’s cottage and sip milky spiced chai. I am relaxed.

The white-winged doves call almost continuously over the soft susurration of water and the cool rustle of the morning breeze through the palm leaves. I know that beyond the porch screen, the world is awake, although from here everything looks still. The deep green water in the little bay calmly offers a mirrored view of everything it sees. If I wander out across the white sand, I will be able to see hermit crabs exploring the shallow edges of the water, jelly fish – beautiful pulsing flowers – a little further out, and fish of various sorts swimming through the reeds, but for this moment, I am quiet on the land.

A grackle flies into the jungle geranium (ixora coccinea) bushes which surround the house, and she poses. She tilts her sleek head at me as if she knows how beautifully her iridescent black feathers contrast against the green leaves and red flowers. Really, she’s just hoping for food. “I don’t have anything for you,” I say and, as if she understands, she flies away. She’ll be back throughout the day, but for now, I imagine her reporting to friends, “No, she’s the only one awake, and she’s still drinking her tea.”

Soon, my spouse appears and joins the lively quiet of this space. We speak occasionally, easily, but mostly we allow ourselves to exist independent of whatever expectations weigh on us elsewhere. The birds continue to call.

Now the human world begins to wake. Now engines growl from the road, from the water. A couple walks by, conversing in hushed tones, moving towards different water – the pool or the ocean. Two paddleboarders slip almost silently into sight. Next door, a little one runs to the edge of the bay, a pail in hand, ready to shape her tiny part of the world. I stand to make a second pot of tea and the curious grackle comes back. 

This place – my aunt & uncle’s cottage – is my favourite place in the world.