In Suchitoto

I took the red-eye to Houston just before midnight on Monday, and the morning flight to El Salvador today. Roberto met me at the airport, and soon I was back in Suchitoto - and it feels wonderful to be here.

My two months in the northwest were a blessing of regained health; joyful and renewing time with my Sisters, family and friends; and summer days in the great beauty of western Washington. I realized, though, in the last few days there that the rich, clean, orderly, luxurious and beautiful environment of Bellevue had begun to feel somewhat unreal to me, and I knew I was called back to El Salvador.

On the way back to Suchitoto I noticed the roads crowded with people walking, the pickups overflowing with passengers, broken-down abandoned cars, heaps of rubbish, trees and shrubs and grasses green with the daily rains, dogs and kids and sidewalk restaurants, a poor, messy, chaotic, lively and vital environment. Real. My ankles swelled instantly in the heat and the mosquitoes located me (gringa alert) and went to work. I'm itching. I'm glad to be back.

Rain and eagles

I woke this morning to two sounds that told me right away where I am: gentle rainfall and an eagle calling. Rainfall here in the Pacific Northwest is entirely different from the rapid downpours in El Salvador: raindrops shift into and out of mist, not enough for an umbrella, just enough to get you damp. And we've been blessed by the presence of bald eages here at St. Mary-on-the-Lake: they perch in our tall Douglas Firs and send their wild warbles into the morning light.

When I come back to the Northwest, it seems to take a few days before I wake up knowing where I am, though the quiet here should be a clue. In Suchitoto, dawn and the hours before dawn are announced by many roosters, birds, and the big buses rolling past our house on the way to the capital. Here the freeway noise is far enough away to be a background hum of white noise, and the morning's hymn to creation is led by the king of birds. Rain falls and will be falling here, on and off, for the next five months. In El Salvador, the rainy season is about to end, and everyone's favorite months, sunny and cool, begin in November.

Island Time

In the past week I've had two island days - a visit to Lopez Island, when Andrea Nenzel and I brought a new computer to Judy Tralnes, seeing trumpeter swans and newborn lambs and the old Center Church along the way, and a visit to Whidbey Island with my sister, Kathy Roben. Kathy and I drove the length of the island, from the ferry dock to the roiling waters of Deception Pass, with stops at Fort Casey and other parks for walks with Dakota, a Chinese Crested pooch being dog-sat by Kathy. The day was sunny, the waters of Puget Sound were still and gray and beautiful. Those islands are two of my favorite places in the world, where the crazy pace of life in the USA seems to quiet down, where there's time for beachcombing and long talks and funny coffee bars with book swaps.

The salt waters that fold around Lopez and Whidbey Islands are the same waters that beat along the beaches of El Salvador - though they're surely warmer waters by the time they get to Central America. Maybe when I go back, I'll take time to visit some of El Salvador's islands and find the rhythm of their island time.