The kids are having races in the yard

It is 5:00 in the evening here. The light is getting softer, the wind is picking up, like it does in the evenings at this time of year. I am on our rooftop, looking at red stones and multicolored glass panes, watching the wind move the coconut fronds.  A man in the village is getting married tomorrow, and the tape of wedding music has begun its long loop.

I've been on the rooftop since early morning. Sending out query letters, my self-confidence dying a little more with each click of the "send" button. Did I mention that I finished the book on my writing vacation?  And did I mention that I've been home for two weeks?  Just in case you're thinking that I'm on a really really long vacation. But today is my writing day and instead of writing, I'm, well, beginning my journey to publication. I want you to read the book.

I'm writing now, and it's feeding me. The wind in the leaves feeds me, the breath of God feeds me, hanging laundry on the line feeds me, and writing feeds me. Also, finding treasures on the shore, a scooter ride through the jungle, and cooking good food.

I'm nobody important, that's what I feel when I look through all the agency websites. But that's what I find to be beautiful about life, that we're nobody important, just small, lovely people who extend a hand of welcome to one another. My book is about small, lovely people, my life is full of small, lovely people, and everyday I meet another person who is fascinating and insightful and nobody important at all.

Kid A, who barely acknowledges that he missed me when I went away, had his own way of letting me know he was glad I was back. Almost as soon as he saw me, he asked if I would like to help him and YaYa build their new invention.



It's a bacteria smasher.  The big stick person is Chinua, and the little stick person is Kid A.  They're there to show the scale.

Inviting me to help him build it was his way of welcoming me home. Of telling me that I was important. Every little frond, every little brick, every pane of glass. Every small trouble, every word, every little blogger, every one of our long, tiring, beauty-filled days.