Tides and ebbs

Home at last. Although I have two more weeks of summer break left, everything already seems so over. The rest of it will probably be spent in going through the motions, in anticipation of the new school year.

Croatia was great. The weather was unpredictable as usual, with scorching heat one moment and strong, cold northern wind gushing forth from the high peaks of Mt. Velebit the other. I love it when the clouds begin to gather and suddenly all the tourists quickly evacuate from the beaches, as if a fast-approaching natural disaster is about to wipe out the entire human race. Nothing ever happens, as the blackness normally disperses in about quarter of an hour, by which time people don't bother coming back to the beaches. Lunchtime anyway. There are always a few people left though, sitting happily along the coast, watching the tide rise and the waves grow powered by the wind. I can tell this is not their first visit to the village. We are in the know when it comes to local weather patterns.

My two cousins are right in thinking that nothing ever changes there. The same people sell their produce on the stalls at the minuscule village market, the same woman sells drinks and sandwiches on the beach, the same things happen at the local village feast of St Mary of the Angels in early August. Everything is cyclical there, tides and ebbs, the winds, coming and going of tourists, feasts of saints... Years ago, before the war, there was a large camping area near the beach, with beautiful, tall poplar tress that provided much needed shelter from the sun for the campers, mostly large groups of young Poles and Czechs. Someone cut down all the poplars soon after the war. This year there stood only two tents erected in the area. Numinous spirits of the place have vanished. Changes are unwelcome and disturbing. I do not welcome them.

The last evening in Karin I was feeling rather melancholic, in one of those states of mind when I feel able to converse pretty much only with plants and animals. I went to the small salt water pond opposite our summer house to say goodbye to the crabs, something I've been doing since early childhood. I found the pond full of life, seagulls minding their own business on the left, a lone heron searching for food on the right, and hundreds of crabs running in all directions in the shallow water. One daring little crab crawled toward me, raising its delicate claws as if to greet me. We played a little, exchanged goodbyes and I knew I was ready to pack.

The cat back home didn't seem to recognize me this time. Maybe she is giving me the silent treatment. Or perhaps my cat-sitting cousins who chose to skip Karin this year were too good to her and now I've fallen into disfavour.

Everything seems to come in cycles. Even the tides and ebbs of feline approval.