This is where I'd like to be right at this moment. Instead I'm writing this post from my bedroom, listening to the wind rush through the window at my back. Something about this breeze stirs up memories of Aruba where the constant trade winds keep the island feeling cool and fresh. The same is true of Seattle today where the heat of full sun is tempered by a glorious breeze, the kind that you can really hear (like Aruba). As I look out the deck doors to my favorite pine tree (the one whose twist and turn branches form faces), I dream about being far away. Specifically, I think about sitting in this broken down shell of a stone building on the north side of Colorado Point in Aruba staring out at the midnight blue of the rolling ocean as it pounds the rocky ledges and cliffs of this most favorite place of mine.
I remember spending many hours here with my friend Roberta. As young girls, this was our special place on Colorado Point. Even then it was wind worn and broken. All we knew was that it offered partial shelter from the big gusts and sometimes from the sun depending on the time of day. Traipsing through the volcanic rock peppered with small and large cacti as well as the dreaded "seven day itch" (much like poison ivy) to reach the structure was part of the experience. Wearing flip flops on our feet, one wrong step and there would be a price to pay with a the sharp spine of a cactus or stickle-burr poking through the worn sole of the shoe. We were skilled at dodging these painful obstacles.
Once settled at the site, we'd sit on the concrete floor and create our "art" with sketchbooks and a box of pastels. Mesmerized by the constant motion of the ocean, the froth of waves hitting the rock shelf, the white spray of sea foam, this was a place of pure escape and creative inspiration. We hoped to capture the essence of moving water and the contrast between cloud filled sky, blue ocean, and desert rock. I don't know how Roberta felt about her artful attempts but try as I might, I could never quite get the look I sought from these pastel drawings. I still have a few of as souvenirs of a time when I was open to the possibilities.
Other than sketching, Roberta and I would bring snacks and water or soda to keep us energized and cool. We'd listen to the sounds of lizards in the underbrush as they scurried about foraging for food. The occasional hawk overhead with its plaintive cawing added another layer of sound. But mostly, it was the wind; variable in intensity but constant, often so loud that the noise of crashing waves 200 yards off in the distance was soundless.
I loved just being in this place. I had no name for the experience at that age; it felt like I was witness to life, stepping out of the ordinary pace into the peaceful moments of NOW. I long to be there, right now with time to simply sit. I long to just listen and see and sit without thought.
**photograph courtesy of Ken Cvejanovich who spent his young years in Aruba as well
I remember spending many hours here with my friend Roberta. As young girls, this was our special place on Colorado Point. Even then it was wind worn and broken. All we knew was that it offered partial shelter from the big gusts and sometimes from the sun depending on the time of day. Traipsing through the volcanic rock peppered with small and large cacti as well as the dreaded "seven day itch" (much like poison ivy) to reach the structure was part of the experience. Wearing flip flops on our feet, one wrong step and there would be a price to pay with a the sharp spine of a cactus or stickle-burr poking through the worn sole of the shoe. We were skilled at dodging these painful obstacles.
Once settled at the site, we'd sit on the concrete floor and create our "art" with sketchbooks and a box of pastels. Mesmerized by the constant motion of the ocean, the froth of waves hitting the rock shelf, the white spray of sea foam, this was a place of pure escape and creative inspiration. We hoped to capture the essence of moving water and the contrast between cloud filled sky, blue ocean, and desert rock. I don't know how Roberta felt about her artful attempts but try as I might, I could never quite get the look I sought from these pastel drawings. I still have a few of as souvenirs of a time when I was open to the possibilities.
Other than sketching, Roberta and I would bring snacks and water or soda to keep us energized and cool. We'd listen to the sounds of lizards in the underbrush as they scurried about foraging for food. The occasional hawk overhead with its plaintive cawing added another layer of sound. But mostly, it was the wind; variable in intensity but constant, often so loud that the noise of crashing waves 200 yards off in the distance was soundless.
I loved just being in this place. I had no name for the experience at that age; it felt like I was witness to life, stepping out of the ordinary pace into the peaceful moments of NOW. I long to be there, right now with time to simply sit. I long to just listen and see and sit without thought.
**photograph courtesy of Ken Cvejanovich who spent his young years in Aruba as well
Nice picture, Kate. You are not alone in those thoughts; The Point calls to many of us for similar reasons. I know you saw these sights when you were there:
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A good place to be. Colorado Point always had a touch of 'freedom' to it. The constant wind, the intensity of the ocean, the ruggedness of the rocks were all wild and wonderful.
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