Wake up to the melody of gurgling cold streams gushing over sinewy rocks in the rainforest. Their soothing murmur ushering you into a new day.
A welcome song with a live orchestra of a chorus of birds, the chirrup of squirrels and the hoot of monkeys. The light broken up into patterns by leaves filters into the room, entering in subdued patches and fragments at first, and as the sun climbs higher into the dense foliage, saunters in boldly with strides of beams that nudge the comfort of your blanket.
You watch the light play all over the day, shifting like a kaleidoscope over snug cane chairs, the veins of leaves, shading petals, forming arches over windows, creating mirror works of art on the ground and falling in love with faces, painting them with depth and character.
Transforming everything it touches, as if waving a wand over the day.
In its presence, each moment acquires a wondrous quality, connections are seen for the first time between previously disparate things.
You sit by the still waters and watch time dissolve at dusk. And as the year draws to an end, and the last light smudges and leaves the sky, the excited chatter of the birds returning to their nests dies down, and the sky sleeps on its bed of deep velvet embroidered with stars, you realise that time is a continuum. We have divided it into days, weeks, months, years-giving it a linearity, held it in place by a regimen of segments. Time goes on in an eternal circle without boundaries, without enclosures.
Nothing has begun, nothing has ended.