by Kathryn Brimacombe
My last day on Ko Samet, a beautiful tropical island off the central coast of Thailand, has dawned with drizzle. It is such a calm contrast to the days previously, which would change radically from scorching hot sunshine to violent thunderstorms in a matter of minutes.
My last day on Ko Samet dawned with drizzle
Now as I sit in the open air restaurant by my bungalow the clouds are hanging low and heavy, thick with rain, yet not releasing their deluge as if waiting for the opportune moment. The sea is surprisingly still, a slate green colour, and only tiny waves lap lazily on the shore. The palm-fringed beach is deserted, due to the lack of sunshine I presume, as if everyone has abandoned it now that they can't get a tan.
I take a break from my writing and look at the people seated around me. There are only six of us, another foreigner like myself, and the others are Thai. The mood is quiet and contemplative as everyone is separated in comfortable silence, either lost in their own thoughts or reading a newspaper. Several metres away an old Thai woman with a betel nut-stained mouth and grey-streaked hair is raking leaves into a pile with a coarse broom, leaving scratching sounds on the ground and in the air, creating a symphony with the sounds of the sea and the cool breeze rustling the pages of newspaper. The acrid smell of burning leaves wafts in on the wind and I am suddenly brought back to Canada, to quiet autumn Sunday afternoons as a child reading contentedly in the warm comfort of my parents' living room, while outside the clouds hung dark and deep and the wind mixed up the scents of rain to come, damp leaves, and muffled smoke.
Lonely beach chairs stand sentinel over the water's edge
I remember feeling so safe, snug in the security of our home and by my parents' love which would protect me from the wild elements outside. I felt that nothing could touch me. Now, I share similar feelings, even though I am thousands of kilometres and many years away from my childhood. Contentedness and peace wraps me like a security blanket, protecting me from the threat of the imminent storm and from all harm. I feel that I belong here, that I am cared for.
I revel in my thoughts of home as I join the others in peaceful contemplation on that serene afternoon on Ko Samet, slightly surprised that a cool cloudy day in Thailand could remind me so much of autumn in Canada. Then, with memories fresh in my mind, I pick up my pen and once again begin to write.
