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It had been raining so much for the past two weeks around here, that the gypsies already knew they were predestined to be guided by rain… and thus, raindrops followed them through hills and valleys, all the way to their campsite… they had made peace with the thought.  Rain washes off the land of impurities and makes the soul of man clean as rushing rivers.  So even if the outcome was to be rained on, they still packed everything up and went along… 

 

They parked their gypsy trailer among the tall pines and vegetations of pine, fir, spruce, hemlock, larch, cedars and conifers... and down below; running through the earth like a live gash, the river in all its glory.  Unstoppable waters rushing down unseen pathways without ever stopping… to where?  

 

 

  

It was a smaller campsite this time, with fewer people and wholly immerse in Nature and the silence which is only broken by rain and the music rivers bestow.  They immediately made acquaintance with nearby fellow campers and gypsies from other tribes and different paths of life with whom they happened to be sharing the same time and the same space under the same sky… and then went to prepare their lunch…

 

 

The day was already cold and behind dark clouds you could already see a storm brewing, but lunch was good, and watermelon for dessert the best.  Then, the Fisherman went down the river edge to engage in this revelry of fishes and rushing waters and hours spent just doing that…  

 

 

Our new gypsy friends Lilac and her husband Dru came down too, they fished and talked while I played with their cute little Maltese, Marla… 

 

 

Fishes were nowhere to be seen and soon big drops started falling, making me to rushed back to our gypsy trailer and hide in my cozy nest…

 

 

I made coffee, got my books and my computer out and started this conversation with you…

  

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9:59 pm: Darkness embracing the rain-laden land in soft stillness; like the sounds of lovers in love.  Outside our window is pitch dark no voice is herd no children at play, it is cold and for some reason, we are sitting inside our cozy nest evoking gone by eras, remembering the Lawrence Welch show, the pretty girls in long dresses and handsome young men, the voices the songs and dances of yesterday.  Ah, how time flies and how swift life is. 

Inside the gypsy trailer it is dark, all lights are out, with only the exception of the soft glow of our computer screens… like fireflies in the night, illuminating the darkness.

 

 

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Morning. For some strange reason, I woke up feeling heavy and ill-humored. What happened later, I cannot explain in exact details, nor can I either explain whatever got into me to have reacted the way I did.  It could had very well been the Fisherman snapping veils off the walls and ceilings that previous night as he turned and tossed in bed.  Or it could had been this and that; or maybe the fact that, again, one of his legs got caught on another veil that morning as he was reaching up to grab something from the shelves above the bed... and boom! The entire hangings that served as curtains or entrance to our little niche came down... lol

I don’t know. I cannot explain in exact details how my brain works, or why sometimes it snaps the way it does, casting me under this dark cloud of self-destruction. Oh it would had been so easy to put everything back up into place right there and then; so easy to straighten things up and continued on enjoying our sweet gypsy space, but instead, all of a sudden, I found myself yanking off every pretty veil and every pretty drape and shawl off ceilings and wall therein.  Push-pins and thumbnails flying everywhere, until everything came to rest on the floor in a sad amalgamation of colors and textures.  

The Fisherman was speechless and felt so bad. We both felt so bad. I knew I was only hurting myself when doing what I was doing, and yet something inside me kept on pushing me onto causing me pain… the time I’d taken to build this little space of ours, the hard work, the joy, the coziness… I was only stripping off my heart of its joy, hurting myself and aiming at making my heart feel so sad by doing what I was doing. I am broken I know. And yet I still like to think that even so, God is nevertheless willing to use me and that his love is so absolute, that He can still love someone like me. I am so blessed to have in my life this gentle human being I called the Fisherman, for his continual love towards me, in spite of me.

After breakfast, we got on our car and when to explore our surroundings and check the little mountain city nearest our campground.  We found a quaint little church where we praised God on his sacred day, met some wonderful people and later joined them at their potluck.  Good healthy food, good people, hearts mended, the little joys restored.  

In the evening, the Fisherman made pizza for dinner... it turned out wonderful!

 

  

Our gypsy caravan is now looking as ordinary and as unpretentious as when it first came to us. Nothing fancy nothing gypsy nothing me... but I guess, as comfortable and undemanding as it should always had been.    For now!