Having grown up on the ocean, I am often amazed at how easy it is to slip into the comfort of silence. From an early age, I was trained in the art of sitting together quietly, listening to the wind and the waves, lazily watching the water breathe and the sun sink into the horizon. For an undertaking so simple, the sense of accomplishment is mystifying.
So you can imagine that it’s been an awfully accomplished week here on the island, what with all the laying in the sand, collecting tiny shells, napping on the porch, reading through stacks of books, watching sunsets and inventing new cocktails (I’ve not yet perfected it, but let’s just say that limes, ginger and spiced rum are involved).
Now, it’s not all silence here in Okinawa. There is a rather large Air Force base nearby, filling the sky with its daily military exercises. There are motorcycle brigades at night and loud cantinas along the beach. And this is Japan, after all, so everything beeps and whistles and sings little songs. Even the beach below our window offers a melody and a greeting every few hours. But there is enough silence to keep a lady busy for three whole weeks.
And I plan to be thoroughly worn out from it.