Four palms, one taller, the other three measure the same.
Heavily anchored in sand, all are vertical climbers of this azure sky.
Eight new fronds per palm, the older ones neatly trimmed by man.
No cocoanuts anywhere to be seen, their hazard great, if allowed to fall.
Growing 40-50 feet tall, how many savage storms have they endured?
Lying on my back, I hear the unseen breezes giving voice to their action
as they manipulate the individual finger like fronds into undulating waves.
In the far and nearly vertical distance I see a moon in half-phase.
This reflection of the sun bisecting the geometry of the moon
made possible by none other than the very planet I lay upon.
One lonely cloud of no consequence is viewable. The pristine nature
of it all now rudely shattered by an absurdity. “Dusk to Dawn” barnyard lights
are lag bolted onto two palms. How incongruous this fit of barnyard lights
affixed to a palm in this tropical paradise.
Suddenly, the whispering of the tropical breeze is interrupted
by the staccato, whump, whump, whumping of a helicopter, all black and shiny.
Streaking parallel to the shore mimicking a news channel
coverage of a Bronco chase or the latest freeway jam. Now comes
the cacophony of a loudspeaker, calling out it’s “Bingo Time” for
the bored and soul-less, as it reverberates toward the beach from poolside.
The rhythmical lapsing of the waves on the shore is drowned out
by high-pitched adrenalin fed screams and twin 200 horse outboard exhausts.
A parasailer from Des Moines has caught the wind and traverses the sky.
Strapped in a chest harness while dangling precariously attached to multicolored bands of
nylon, he is praying the towrope doesn’t break.
My total sublimation again obliterated, this time by two nudists from Europe.
Heavy oiling barely covers her lack of cups and his cajones are swinging free.
Nuts and knockers that haven’t seen the sun for eons will certainly
ache for emollient caresses tonight. Those mental images will play in my mind
like a never-ending mobious strip of hilarity, for which there is no end.
Traveling thousands of miles from the cold weather and slush.
I was allowed only one minute of solitude before nuts, knockers,
loudspeakers and barnyard lights rudely jerked me back to this reality.
Corrupting civilization is just a split second behind us. Ever ready to bury us,
should we but pause to admire natures’ beauty in a remote destination!
*Vacation thoughts garnered in Punta Cana.