Lake Atitlán...waves pulsing.
Ducks croon by the dock.
Hoots of a chorus of owls.
Ultrasonic squeaks of bats.
Woodpeckers woodpeckering,
“Taptaptaptaptap.”
Happy staccato chirps
of hummingbirds.
Butterflies flit about,
loud with color and splendor.
Buzzing bees bathe in pollen.
Vampiric mosquitoes whine for blood.
Moths whisper with their wings.
Spiders silently creeping, crawling,
spinning, and standing still.
“Meow!?!”
Two
kittens
mewling
with
hunger,
irritation,
boredom,
affection,
excitement,
and curiosity.
They purr like
miniature motorcycles
melting into a puddle of fur.
Not a single barking dog is to be heard;
They aren’t allowed on the farm, too noisy.
Squirrels scold from the treetops
in a nutty, disapproving tone.
A lizard rustles the underbrush.
Axuan, the god of wind speaks;
Broad leaf banana tree leaves
rub and scrape against their trunks.
Chimes at the tea house ring
a random soothing sequence.
Flashes. Thunderclaps.
Torrents of rain fall as thousands of droplets drum onto the roof,
drowning out all conversation.
Fruit being chopped.
A kettle whistling.
I hear my stomach growling.
Head chef David walks outside
and picks up a padded mallet.
“Boooooooonnnnnnngggg!”
People gather,
greeting one another.
Women giggling. Men chuckling.
Dayna thanks the cooks
in Mayan, “Maltiox.”
David replies in Spanish, “Provecho.”
A blessing and a song in a circle as one.
The clink of ceramic dishes and utensils.
Masticating the scrumptious food
with crunchy slurpy sounds
in between moans of delight,
at the Mystical Yoga Farm.
