The milky glow of the Maldivian moon swallows the sky, dripping its pallid light across the dimming azure blue waves of the ocean. The sea rolls gently over the lips of the island sand, reclining and returning like the promising caress of a lover. Cradled in the crooked arms of the moon's glow, the island springs to life; fruit bats pulse through the dark, island birds lurch into their echoing calls.
Tracing the imprints of towering palm trees against the watercolour pinks and oranges of the Indo-Asian sunset, they seem too perfect to have been placed there by accident. As though arranged by the hand of an artist, the island is always poised for some surrealist interpretation on canvas.
The Maldivian night isn't like any other night. It's punctured by clusters of stars, a universe free from the permanent blanket of pollution which sallows our earth. As arms cut through the pool in evening swim, scents rise from the heart of the island, where cooks work to the clockwork of three meal times each and every day. Jasmine, cardamon, and garam masala intertwine with fried oil and sugar, twisting with the sea breeze in an enchanting aroma.
Room boys sweep the sand from still hot verandas, lizards from palm tree to palm tree, the bellies of crickets reverberate from the shrubs. Imprints of bare feet are left behind to be washed away as the crabs scuttle and burrow, racing the sweeping tide line. These island dwellers speak a secret language; they cheat life, they get to stay here forever.
Laughter bubbles in private jacuzzis. The thunderous pressure of outdoor showers smack tiles. Evening dresses drape across the beach, cologne mingles with the scents of herbs, tablewear clangs, wine is poured as honeymooners dine in the dark.
Lydia Rose,
xoxo
SHOP THE POST
No comments:
Post a Comment