The Inside Diaries

Estate of Being

She surveyed the scenery, taking in the cemented redone cobblestone the color of sand, the palm fronds planted here and there, the forest green wicker patio furniture—why had Fernando insisted on that choice of color and texture? This the writer had wondered time and time again until this morning in particular, when she had been roused unusually early from bed to quell a hungry stomach that would not stay satiated with a glass of water.

Exiting the kitchen with succor—kale scramble, mozzarella, guacamole—Catticus, of course, winding his furry self about her ankles, it was then she finally realized the aptness of such hue.

The sun had freshly risen, from a cornucopia of apricot, peach, and plum, causing a new day to emerge on this lovely isle, one filled with emerald green foliage and fauna...not a monochrome palette...was a dichrome palette a thing?

There was, she realized, a certain elegant beauty in such simple colors—green and sienna, both color schemes decorating the awning before her, as the sky reached its robin's egg hue. An ineffable, indescribable, serene simplicity, that hearkened the senses to—she inhaled the scent of coconut and saffron—

Home.

Cupping her glance, she peered past the vineyard branches, tiny but lush, to the damask clay enclave of sorts further away, a place built for storing and processing casks of fermented grapes. This building had existed, had flourished in its heyday, but fell forgotten decades upon decades later—that is, until she and Fernando had taken it upon themselves to update and refurbish the property, after the kitchen itself had been renovated and made complete.

Checking the time, Melanija realized she had an hour before anything needed doing—Catticus had already been fed and watered, and Fernando was asleep after pulling a double-digit workday. He'd clearly earned his keep.

Then a thought struck her—

The hillside waterfall.

But she didn't much like the idea of going alone. What was the point of being newly wedded, if one couldn't traipse along on an adventure with one's beloved? At the same time, she knew that was clearly out of the question. Which meant...she peered down at Catticus, whose unblinking eyes gazed back. "Catticus, how 'bout you and I go for a walk?"

And there she was, forty-five minutes later, treading uphill along a hilly pass, after leaving a note on Fernando's nightstand, holding Catticus in her arms. Luckily, she'd brought along a cat leash ages ago, and he'd taken to it reasonably well, but the myriad tiny sun-bleached rocks made her nervous for the feline's sensitive paws. The writer made a mental note to bring a cat carrier—stroller, like her friends back home, or perhaps a kitty knapsack, in which Catticus could peer out and view the fascinating world before him.

One day.

Morgana had mentioned the location in passing during the movie night hosted earlier. "A meditation retreat of sorts," Melanija recalled the crimson-haired woman saying, "mixed with a pool, some recreation, hiking scenery, great for pets—"

The writer glanced upward, groaning to herself. More hillside? The road surged uphill, twisting and turning, the pavement made of some sort of burnished clay cobblestone. This, plus a twelve-pound-plus cat in her arms left her perspiring heavily despite it being early morning. "I've got to figure out a better system—"

One turn of the road—she spotted out of the corner of her eye, a couple of what appeared to be verdant succulent plants, if such plants mated with palm fronts to create its upright counterpart. Then, as the path began to reach its close, she noticed more plants—potted plants of every sort, lining the uppermost ledge. Another several meters and the roadway—if it could be called a roadway—dipped into a grove of palm trees, where the writer spotted a stocky man, his visage obscured by a pale straw fedora, before showing a familiar pair of pale grey eyes—

"Matias?" she spoke incredulously. "What're you doing here?" She stepped closer, noticing what appeared to be a charcoal fire, except without the stuff, involving some sort of cauldron instead of a metal grate.

"Cleaning the foliage," he answered, companionably so, "volunteer service," he continued, noticing her perturbed expression.

Matias reached out to pet Catticus and stroke beneath his chin, to which the feline emitted a throaty purr. "Hello to you too, dear sir—" he paused, noticing the writer slightly out of breath, her slender arms heaving under the weight of the cat. "Did you carry him the whole way?"

She nodded. "Well...he has a leash...but the rocks. Didn't want to risk it."

"Understood." He departed to a nearby tool shed, rummaging among clanging metallic pieces before exiting and heading toward them both, this time with a miniature—

"A wagon?" Melanija asked.

He nodded. "For now, and the trip down. Return it next time you see me?"

"Thanks, Matias. Will do."

A calm semblance of silence emerged as the older man continued to pluck and chop deadened palm fronds. "So. What brings you and the kitty here?"

"A walk. I wanted to go for a walk, and Morgana—"

He chuckled. "She told you, didn't she?"

"Yeah. Something about a fountain thing, scenery? Hiking?" Then a thought occurred to her as she stared at him, horror-struck. "Oh God, I don't have to hike ten kilometers to get to the fountain-scenery-thingy, do I?"

"No, my dear...as a matter of fact—" he pointed just beyond as she gasped aloud. There, there, just beyond the plentiful palms, was a straw-covered courtyard garden of sorts, its flooring of honeyed wood, and just after that, a rather delicious pool of cooled water, that dropped onto a steep cliffed incline among tropical trees that had to be at least forty feet tall.

"Wow," Melanija breathed.

Paradise found.