Summer ends in a few weeks from now. My maternal grandmother died in September when I was as young as my youngest daughter is today. She would come from the island Goeree to stay with us for a couple of weeks. She had her large black shiny purse with a golden clipper and filled with sweets: Dutch delight. 'Oma Harnis' ( Harnis as the last part of Middelharnis, the small town where she lived) was warm and round and soft. Just like a grandmother is supposed to be. She couldn't walk very easily, she was overweight. Her skin was like a peach. No wrinkles. She was terribly afraid of bugs and wasps. And my mother is really allergic for wasps. My mother, is healthy and very quick and the opposite of overweight. No sweets but sweet herself. She admires the stars in the dark sky with her grand-daughters. She lays down on the beach with them and swims in the river. While I observe her motions, she's still the same, she didn't change much. In just a few more weeks we celebrate Belle's tenth birthday.
She sat the terrace yesterday. She looked up to the stars. Warm and dark Moroccan nights. Ramadan follows the moon calendar. We slowly adjust to these cultural rhythms and rituals in our host country Morocco. We've changed over the years while experiencing new places, other cultures in various countries. We like to understand better their way of breezing and admiring. The stars tonight are as magnificent as always.
The moon rises.