Renee's Room

An elderly man was seen walking along the paths of the Turquoise Turtle recently, smiling and nodding a greeting to those he passed.  His head is covered with wispy, snowy white hair that curls about his ears.  He peeks out at the world through small, gold rimmed glasses perched so far down on his nose that no part of his blue-gray eyes are covered.  These twinkle with humor and intelligence.  No one who saw him remembers speaking, yet we all know where his room is and that it is next to the one we are keeping for Renee.  She told us some time ago that she wanted to stay and we have her room ready.

It's just along the path to the cove, sheltered among giant elephant ear palms and covered in fragipani blossoms.   All through the night, warm sea breezes rustle the bedhangings and carry the scent of delicate evening blooming  moonflowers through the air.  Hummingbirds with glowing, translucent feathers hover above the overflowing flower baskets shooting shafts of color as they dart from one basket to another in the morning sunshine.  Hot tea and almond biscotti are always on the table just outside the door, on the porch overlooking the harbor

Books are stacked everywhere.  These belong to the gentleman next door; he is always adding to the collection.  The books are rare and very old, even from a distance they draw you closer.  So many hands have handled them that the leather covers are pliable and soft to the touch.  No hard corners jab tender skin.  The endpapers are marbled in the colors of the sea and the thick parchment pages are edged in gold.  No matter where the book is opened, it will always lie flat.  The illustrations are hand tinted and the writing is faded, royal purple calligraphy.  Of course!  These aren't books.  They're journals!  The old gentleman is filling the world around Renee's room with beauty and wonder.  He knows that minds can dwell in a color or a scent and especially in imagination.  There is lovliness in the world if we seek it out.  Anyone from Blogland Lane is welcome to drop by and pick up a journal, to read Renee a story or show her one of the illustrations.  Read aloud if you like.  Put you feet up on the porch railings and draw a picture.  Stay for a little while and have tea.

We can all listen and share in the stories and pictures, there is room for us all.  But a few of us, a very, very few, can actually enter into these worlds the journals describe.  This gift is given only to those with old souls, to warriors and to those with special gifts.  Renee can enter these places.

I know this is true because Renee is a warrior.

And Renee can fly.