That Nagana Life

Speeding rays pierced through the canopy of branches, tickling my feet with the warmth of our sun’s rising shine.  With laser focus, these beams of light danced up my legs, took flight from my hip and landed squarely on my eyelids. The sudden flash of light accompanied by the song of birds rejoicing at dawn brought me back to the land of the living. I opened my eyes to see that only I and Papa Ely were awake. I was an early riser, but he never slept. With pride, he watched over his small nation who slept cradled in the sacred arms of mother nature in her finest regalia, the gardens of Nagana. The lush greens that gave forth fruit of every kind and color provided sanctuary for Papa Ely and his many descendants. Lulled to sleep by the fragrant releases of lavender and jasmine, our loved ones slept on in peace as grandfather and I waited for the word of the Great Mother who spoke only to those who were awake and prepared to listen. It was this rite of passage, one steeped in the rituals of gratitude that I remember the most.