A couple of years ago, the ancient guardian, that had stood at the entrance of the steep sided road that winds a circuitous way to the village for as long as anyone could remember, fell. The earth vibrated with the deep rumbling crash as one giant arm of the sentinel hit the ground. We held our breath. The Silk Cotton Tree, having watched over this community for hundreds of years,
home to spirits, Soucouyant and jumbie, had finally lost the strength to stand with outstretched limb. T took to the road with everyone else and went 'to see'. All traffic both in and out of the village ceased, electricity was cut off and before long the sound of chain saws and numerous instructions could be heard. A taxi driver and his passengers had had a narrow escape as did Bev who owns the adjacent spice shop but luckily everyone was alright. Here is a link to the local news report on that day.
Post by
GBN Television News.
Some time later, T returned home with all the talk and a slice of this great buttressed sentry which is where it has stayed, unadorned, until now. I have long been an avid reader and admirer of Rima Staines's
wonderful work and blog
The Hermitage and in that spirit, but without her ability, set out to paint a memory on the slice of this special tree that we once ran past as night fell.
Tonight is Halloween, and I hope a fitting occasion to mark the passing of a keeper of souls.
