Moving On… Again

It was night. All was peaceful and quite… not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

But rats gnaw at bamboo slats, owls hoot from their treetop roosts, hens stir in their nests, and dogs howl at the moon.

Ahh. It’s good to be home.

Six months after an impulsive decision brought about by skyrocketing prices of commodities and fuel, enduring insane living conditions, loneliness, attacks from a homicidal chicken, I’ve decided to come home to my beloved tropical jungle.

Get a move on, Tarzan, the Deranged Palmist rules the roost again.

Call in the beasts of hoof, of feet, of wing, and of fin. The forest is now in council.


Gnnnn. I couldn’t stand living in the boarding house any longer. Yesterday, amid howling winds and pouring rain and with the help of my friends, we hauled my stuff from the lowland cave and hied back to the mountains. Ta was amazed at the volume of the things I’ve accumulated in my six-month stay in the boarding house, which filled the back of a mini pick-up.

The best part was when Faith, after helping with the unloading, looked at me with a big smile. “You’re going to live with us again,” she said and gave me a big hug.

I love being a mountain woman.


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