Sleepy Sunday Reflections

Sunday. The red and blue train snakes its way back to the town in the distance, its echoes slowly fading from a booming roar into a far away hum. It was the same train that brought me to this garden. The hill rolls down from the park into a stretch of cozy looking French houses and eventually sweeps under the impressive skyscrapers of La Defense, Paris' financial district. Seemingly planted on the horizon, the spiny Eiffel Tower scratches the bottom of a thick, rippled cloud.

I can hear the joyful sounds of families enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon behind me. Footballs are being kicked, picnic baskets are being opening, and children are squealing with laughter. There are so many elderly couples here. Couples that have spent a lifetime together, that have seen each other grow old and ugly, and that still walk hand in hand, happily enjoying the last seasons of their lives. I am leaning on a long stretch of metal railing that borders the park at St. Germain en Laye, a lovely town just a short train ride away from my cottage. I came here to walk, to relax, and to reflect.

The town is bustling with life. It is one of those days when the world seems to open up before you, and everything seems fresh and new again. One of those days when that spiritual feeling of awe begins to stir in your chest.

The world truly is a mysterious place.

The unusually warm weather is a wonderful mood lifter. Looking up, I see that the curved sky is painted with deep blues of many different hues . The colours are more vibrant than usual. Soon the sun will set and the blue sky will melt away and the true magnitude of the cosmos will be revealed. I take a deep breath of cool air, and I am grateful. There is nowhere else I need be. There is nothing more that I need.

I am alive.

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They catch you off guard sometimes. Just when you think that you are beginning to dangle dangerously close to having a nervous breakdown. Just when you think that nobody is listening to you, that you have lost all control of the class, and that no one appreciates your presence, one of them goes and does something kind and unexpected.

A new year's gift. I really wasn't expecting this. I am touched by the attention to detail; the Trini flag that was pasted on the envelope, the festive red bow, and by the card written in perfect English. Moments like this give you the strength to continue.

This gift came from one of my eight year old students. By the time that she reaches my present age, I will be forty years old. A dizzying thought. Working in a primary school puts you face to face with the new generation. You get to experience their boundless energy, and their pure, innocent zest for life.

Halfway across the dark Atlantic ocean, however, there are thousands of children who will not be alive to see the dawn of the new decade.

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Tears in Ayiti.

The Earth shook herself for thirty seconds and now an entire city lies in ruins. More reminders of our fragile we are, of how quickly things can change for the worse. This one really hit close to home. Imagine, a little bit further south and it would have been Port-of-Spain, and not Port-au-Prince, crumbling on every major international news station. Those would have been my family and friends, and perhaps myself, trapped underneath those concrete buildings.

My heart is aching for these people. This is our neighbourhood, and these are our neighbours that are suffering.

How much can one people take? These are the descendants of warriors. Warriors who bravely wrestled their freedom back from their oppressor's hands, and now they have been dealt yet another cruel blow. It is hard to make sense of tragedy. Impossible, perhaps. The 'whys' and the 'what ifs' are endless.

There is nothing we can do but open our hearts; to help however we can, and to give whatever we can, freely, and with hearts full of compassion. This could easily have happened to us.

There is nothing else that I can say.