Starting off again today, too late in the day to fully get to where I am going but still feel I should make the effort. I passed the most amazing trees wearing lacy fungus skirts, patches of toadstools at their gnarled roots.
The donkey still followed me, though not at my urging. Doing what could only be described as an awkward bunny hop and nose-nudging it dawned on me (I am none to quick on the uptake today), the donkey was trying to point something out to me.
Quite surprising I found a doll, looking just like the one my mother made from my dad's old corduroy pants. That was a half centurey ago, and miraculously this doll has never been lost nor needed mending.
Her name was Jamaica.
I've no idea how she got beneath the tree, all they way out here. I last left her sitting on a shelf in my hallway. Jamaica has always been profundly important to me, representing constancy, after all she is always there, even when I am away and forget to pack here, somehow she still is there. Gifts made with love are never lost.
I suppose I've taken her for granted and not noticed her wandering off. Much like this donkey, he blends well against old walls and cliffs. I haven't seen wings on this one, perhaps they are folded close when not in use? He'sgot the most beautiful eyes. Far more intelligent than one would suppose a donkey would be.