What A Time To Be Alive

What a time to be alive.

The first image was taken a couple of weeks ago when I had to get out of the car to breathe in the surroundings. I am constantly surprised how, on an island that is relatively small, I am always finding new areas that take my breath away.

The second image was taken the morning the ash from La Soufriere in St Vincent began to descend on Barbados. Those are not rain clouds behind me but ash clouds, turning the daytime sky to night. Naively, I did not think the ash would be as disruptive or last as long as it is.

The 2020 lockdowns were 'manageable' because I could fling the windows and doors open in the morning and let the fresh air in. But now opening the windows or doors even for a few minutes, leaves a fine layer of dust over EVERYTHING.

One of my fondest memories of St Vincent is sitting on the veranda, shelling peas with my late granny in Biabou Village. The hot black sand at the beach nearby was mysterious and beautiful. Throughout last week, the images of destruction and chaos, along with the daily Vid dashboard, became jarring. I wanted to find an image of the luscious green St Vincent I knew. I came across the last image online and realised it is a short walk away from my granny's house in Biabou.

Every time I sweep a pile of ash, I grumble and then remember those who have been displaced, who have been without water and electricity, whose homes and business have been looted. I then grumble at my grumble and feel a huge sense of gratitude.

Nature is humbling, and subtle, and purposeful, and magnificent.