Afternoons at home

Rare are the afternoons when I have idle time for myself. But yesterday was something else. There arrived an unexpected blessing—a pocket of sweet time when I had nothing to do.

 

As soon I parked the car, I greeted my mother in her room, interrupting her Netflix viewing. I headed out to the living room. The sun was glorious but not scathing. Photographers call the late tropical afternoons the golden hour. I went back to my desk to grab the camera, whose existence I only recall when I travel. 



I jolted Paul from his nap. "Dali na!" I said. He yawned, stretched, and trailed me. After three years, we've figured out his body language. He was waiting for a treat, a belly rub, or some play time that involves an old tennis ball—or all of the above. "Hulat lang, Paul, ha?" I speak to him like I would to a three-year old.

Nanay's small garden is a place of tranquility. You'd hear birds chirping. You'd see nests on top of the tree. They must feel safe here. Vegetation surrounds our small plot of land. It takes a lot of effort to maintain, but the greenery keeps the Marbel heat at bay. 



A vase and candles on top of shoe rack cast their sleepy shadows.



The vine, whose name I forget, delighted me with its shadow. But random beauty like this often gets unnoticed. I must remind myself to take a second look. First impressions are not everything.



The white bougainvillea needed trimming. Our neighbor Auntie Elsie told me she'd often see young people taking selfies with the lush white flowers in the background.



The hanging plants could care no less. But they thrive in sunny conditions and flourish when there are intermittent rains.



I could see Choco, the soon-to-be one year old puppy next door, looking at me, whimpering, waiting to be released.



No wonder why. There were the kids, laughing and talking, oblivious to the worries of this broken world.

Paul looked at them with envy. 

I opened the gate, releasing Paul to the outside world.  Choco managed to squeeze through the small gap beneath the blue gate (dogs are smart creatures, really), then crossed the quiet street and greeted Paul. I did not know how Paul would react. Would he get mad that someone encroached on his territory? But Paul welcomed the company and treated Choco like a little boy. 

Choco was too adorable and playful. 

After their customary sniffing and greeting, I could see that Paul was playing the part of the older mentor, teaching the young Choco where to go, directing their games, leading him to the grass or that tree. I might have read too much into that canine interaction, but I need to tell a story here — so indulge me. 

Choco would not come near me because he was too distracted by what he smelled in the grass. 

There was manong Paul, whose transmuted age in human years is around 30-40. I tell him, "Tigulang ka na gid gali, Paul?"

But it was getting dark and the moon was rising and the kids had gone home. Paul walked back to the house on his own, like the wise and mature dog he had become.