Once a month the doctor visits.
She makes her trip inland, driving from
her coastal town to our village
hidden in the hills.
Here, people rarely get sick.
They say whatever's carried in the wind
stops them getting dizzy in the heat.
They believe in the hills,
gifted with sweet smelling herbs
waiting for the miracle of alchemy
to transform them into oils, infusions,
syrups and decoctions-
feverfew for headaches, fennel for digestion,
lavender for dreaming.
The doctor's young,so has an open mind.
Never critical, she's always willing to listen.
Most days, she's woken by the ocean
on its way to demolish the dunes.
Dragged back by an invisible force,
it roars in frustration, straining
like a tethered beast demanding
to do what it pleases.
But Earth won't allow it just yet
and the ocean knows who's in charge,
the rules will change only when She decides.
The doctor's irritated.
She can't see the ocean any more,
her view's obscured by unfinished business-
silent carcasses of half-built villas.
She can taste the salt.
Feeling trapped, she would like to find shelter
in another skin.
But today, her cure is in the hills.
At her door, she waits for the mist to lift.
It whispers there are other choices.
To unlock another door while she still has time.
*
In each on of us there survives an intuitive preference
for all things natural. The great continuum of life that
contains and sustains us.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
