Moments of Introspection on My Island Haven
Returning to the island follows a set pattern. Like a hound scouring a house for elusive cats or crumbs missed upon arrival, I find solace in reconfirming the serenity of this spot on the planet that feels more than any other place like my home. In the first week, I always ensure that everything is still in its proper place. So I traverse the village, the inland dunes, the Corsican pine trees, the lakes, wetlands, the neighboring town of Zierikzee, and the seemingly endless white beaches.
Today, I mainly spent at home, in the modest white house in the center of the village, hence pretentiously known as The White House. I started catching up on everything I marked during the past six weeks of hiking according to Eisenhower's efficient time management system as important but not urgent.
But sadly, the flaw in such a scheme is that even matters of non-immediacy gradually discontinue their irrelevant status by neglect. Around the six-week mark, this juncture becomes evident, and a pile of important as well as urgent emails awaits the weary pilgrim, a deduction gained from my recent experience.
So I only inspected if the dunes were still where they were the last time I checked as dusk settled in. Non-urgent and non-important, but I thought you would be interested in having it confirmed. Behold, they stand intact, and unlike the previous summer, there is enough water for plants and animals this year. I love to walk through the fresh green colors as seen in the first photo of these dunes in a wet summer.
The rest of the world boils, burns, and dries out. At the same time, as so often before, I enjoy life in beautiful nature while nursing a melancholy heart and an agitated soul over the planet's peril.
Even Eden itself, Maui, a cherished haven for newlyweds, now grieves the toll of nature's response to decades of pumping greenhouse gasses into the atmosphere. A merciless conflagration, consuming lives and legacy.
Gone are the days when the climate crisis was only a concern for the poor in the poorest countries; now, no country is left for us to sit it out and forget about it. May I suggest, again and as so often before, that the hour is ripe for resolute climate action?
I will add a final photograph as an ode to companionship, a token for those who love this view; close one eye, and you will see a heart-shaped pond. I checked and am happy to confirm the serenity of this spot is still there. In the late afternoon, I was there alone, as if in one of those tiny churches along the Camino, where I took my time to think about life and the lives lost.
Even the birds were quiet, some of them enjoying a prolonged stay since flying further south is something their parents did; but in a warming Netherlands, it gets out of fashion to fly further to the Mediterranean. Those birds hope that increasingly humans will adapt in similar ways.
So glad the dunes are still there. Looks heavenly. Those trees and that lake are just lovely. Thanks for taking us along.
I agree with what you write in todays newsletter : “Gone are the days when the climate crisis was only a concern for the poor in the poorest countries; now, no country is left for us to sit it out and forget about it. May I suggest, again and as so often before, that the hour is ripe for resolute climate action?”
And dreadful events as fires and floods all over the world are definitely inviting us if not pushing for various actions at home, in the shops, at work, everywhere and to discuss the possibilities we have for new ways to do.