Life with AnElephant is never boring. In amiable companionship we spend days of sunshine and blue sky enjoying the adventure. Medville is home for a while for two rolling stones on the edge of a wave in an ocean of time.
He is happy in Medville where the Med, his only true love, meets him every day in late afternoon when the sun no longer scorches. She wraps herself around him, soothes old scars and gives him new dreams. Bathers expect to see AnElephant’s trunk and sunglasses bobbing happily in the bay when he lies on his back, letting the sea sing her whooshing sounds in his ears.
I introduce AnElephant to my favorite plane trees, the ones I touch as I walk by; some are hurting others thrive, but they all have souls. We discover shapes and faces, stories unfurl as we finger and stroke their bark.
At the end of the day we walk past the regal centennial parasol pine to whom we pay our respect. He always gives us something back, graciously.
I share Medville’s magic with my friend because magic shared increases tenfold.
There is a secret garden tucked behind Main Street, replete with exuberant roses, jasmine, lavender, pomegranates, olive and fig trees, where an orange trumpet vine covers a wall on her way to the sky while a cool fountain pours life and love quietly. We linger in the oasis, in the breezy part of the day, in the enchantment of dusk’s muted colours and heady scents. AnElephant smiles.
There are the calanques at the end of 231 steps, where sprites and mermaids wave at each other, where stones are covered in gold flecks and the Med throws diamonds at the sky. AnElephantCant believe what he sees, his eyes shine.
There is the sky and clouds where we find common and mythical creatures, often dumbstruck at the marvels painted above and around my mountains that shape shift with the light. AnElephant squints and ponders, then dreams a rhyme.
There are ecstatic moments of wonder such as the chase around the lantanas for an elegant butterfly’s best profile. Or the tropical rain that marches down the mountain, pounding rooftops and palm fronds like drums. AnElephant is enthralled. He walks out on to the driveway, stands in the rain and lets it wash over him, primal and worshipful all at once, he is First Man, ancient and five years old. I join him. How could I not?
And then there are the evenings with rhythms and melodies we lived playing in the background, when we feast on blissful summer tastes and aromas, fruits and cheeses washed down with local wine. Laughter fuses in starry nights, silliness elbows out worries as my dog entertains with his conversation, as we look for missing constellations, and the shy resident lizard makes furtive appearances.
AnElephant thinks he is in paradise and is happy in Medville, so for a little while he folds his butterfly wings.