Lake Atitlan, Panajachel, Guatemala
Thursday, June 19, 2014
The Writing Life
Today my Writer's Creed post for the month is on my author website. I hadn't updated it since January and figured it was about time. The link is here if you want to know--
1. What writing books I'm currently using
2. What inspirational quote is keeping me going
3. How the move to a third world country has inspired my creative life
4. What this is and how I'm using it--
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
The Rainy Season
After months of sunshine and perfect 70 degree days, the rain comes to the Lake Atitlan region. Every day, sometimes all day and throughout the night, it pounds against the roof of our house so we can barely hear each other speak.
The nearby mountains are covered in gray clouds, the storm appearing much worse there than in the valleys, and I wonder about the Mayan people who live on the mountain, in their small villages far above town. How they must travel through the relentless pouring rain to work in their fields on the hillsides. They will navigate the steep, slippery, muddy paths down toward the local market to sell their vegetables. They can't afford to wait for the rain to stop, as the rainy season starts in May and goes through September. It is the Guatemalan winter.
The storm seems ominous and threatening as I think about these people in the hills around Lake Atitlan. They manage, sun or rain, regardless. They tend their crops, come to town, carrying huge loads on their backs, to sell what they have grown, crafts they have made. Like all people everywhere, they need to survive, maybe get ahead, wanting a better life for their children. Maybe one day they can get enough money for the children to stop working in the fields and go to school.
I'm embarrassed at myself cowering from the rain in my large house with a garden, upset that I can't hear the sound on my Netflix movie.
Lake Atitlan during the rainy season |
The nearby mountains are covered in gray clouds, the storm appearing much worse there than in the valleys, and I wonder about the Mayan people who live on the mountain, in their small villages far above town. How they must travel through the relentless pouring rain to work in their fields on the hillsides. They will navigate the steep, slippery, muddy paths down toward the local market to sell their vegetables. They can't afford to wait for the rain to stop, as the rainy season starts in May and goes through September. It is the Guatemalan winter.
The storm seems ominous and threatening as I think about these people in the hills around Lake Atitlan. They manage, sun or rain, regardless. They tend their crops, come to town, carrying huge loads on their backs, to sell what they have grown, crafts they have made. Like all people everywhere, they need to survive, maybe get ahead, wanting a better life for their children. Maybe one day they can get enough money for the children to stop working in the fields and go to school.
I'm embarrassed at myself cowering from the rain in my large house with a garden, upset that I can't hear the sound on my Netflix movie.
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