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Family at Rest

It is near dusk as the rickety bus begins its descent down the 40 hairpin curves that feed into the Lake near the Province of Leyte. With each precipitous turn, baskets of peanuts, fruit and small childern slide across the bus floor as I stand in the aisle, clinging to the hand bar above. The bus is teeming with teenagers, many of them prepubescent filipina boys, whose furtive hands persistently climb up my legs and under my sarong until I give them a swift nudge with my flip-flop. The evening is hot and the sweat drips down my back and my hands slip along the rusty hand bar,
then suddenly the door opens and im there.... Life truely has its rewards does'nt it?

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Fort Santiago

For a moment, everything seems frozen, motionless like the split second before a shutter clicks. Then the fog rolls in, rolling over the bay, coasting thru the warm, sultry air like a thick molasses. The wind picks up, sending furious ripples across the water. Darkness cloaks the little valley, and the city blinks with the feeble flickering of oil lamps resting in front of the shopkeeper's wares, The night pulsates with the electric rhythm: the treetops sing with chirps, yelps, moans and groans. But above the symphony of peoples clatter resonates another voice, a shadow of a figure sitting near the wall giving prayer from his cardboard temple.

There is nothing to do now but stand in the dark and listen to this invisible orchestra, and dare my weary body to be lulled to sleep by its haunting lullaby.