Home » Uncategorized » Bonty’s Zeb, an aside

Bonty’s Zeb, an aside

     This is the first ravine I saw, one hundred feet from my house, after the deluge of December 2013.

ImageThe second and third a few hundred feet down the mountain.   Image
The fourth I pictured a laundrymat and it has begun.  I would hang my clothes on the bambo rods to air them out.

     My favorite is the one with all the vines hanging down like a curtain after the trees were uprooted.  It brought me back to my childhood on South Flagg St. in Worcester in the late forties, early fifties and there was a swamp at the end of our street.  They were post war houses built on land fill I image.  There were vines that we could swing from but there were too many trees and we always smacked into one.  But it was the humid jungle to us, the Sniders and Goldsteins and Burwicks and Hurwitzes, the second generation Americans, one more step into assimilation.  

     Black Betty sits contentedly, if a bit lonely after a night of munching.  She is waiting for water and a move for the day.  Her cowpie is very close to her butt.  Well, she was just resting, not eating.

     The river of dreams runs steady.  Three Hundred and Sixty-five rivers in Dominica.  Maybe more but a good mnemonic.

     The sweetly feminine ratter up early for the prowl.

    These are some of the sights during my morning mountain walk through Bonty Henry’s neighborhood where there were no roads, only cow paths when he was a child.


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