In my dreams, I was back in my little hut, no electricity, no running water, no modern day distractions just the sound of the stream rushing through the rocks, and the birds singing in the mango tree. And ever so often, the wind would whistle through the weeping willow that sat at the top of the hill, that hill where I can look out at the forest, past the waterfalls, through the valleys and out at the ocean. Where I can sit and watch the lightening flash out of the dark clouds, hear the rain pound the volcanic soil. Listen to roosters crow and pigs squeal. Here the laughter of young men playing cricket in the pasture. I do not want to wake up, life is too simple in my other world. Ahh yes, its a Spice island kind o dream.