Fall on the Heath

I went from growing up in a desert where there was a hot arid summer and a cold dry winter with sudden showers to living on an island close to the Arctic where each season was clearly separated from the other but always punctuated by a steadily falling rain. Now, I live in a city close to the Tropic of Cancer in a country that plays host to a variety of seasons in a dozen different places. And it is while sitting here waiting for the rest of my life to happen that I suddenly miss fall.

In my mind the season will forever be associated with the beginning of term. The word also brings with it a vivid memory of  wonderful fiery colors , that strange quality of light that is at once luminous and cozy giving an instant air of intimacy and mystery.

Found this photo online and it captures perfectly the quality of light in a way that I never was able to do.

I love long walks and Hampstead Heath was a walker's paradise. I discovered a peace unlike any other during those long walks alone on the Heath with the chill in the air , the strange hush, the leaves and their colors, my hands dug deep into my coat pockets sometimes seeing my breath in clouds , my desert bred ears stinging deliciously in the cold wind and the splendid colors of the sunset. The sunset was different from the brilliant displays of color of a desert sunset. This one was calmer somehow and closer- a cool observer of brilliant things. Over the next few years as I walked over the Heath through various seasons and in many different types of weather , I decided fall was my favorite time and made sure my fall walks were undertaken alone. 

For some reason, fall is also associated with the intense earthy taste of  warm gooey chocolate ,piles of books,curling up under pink comforters and rain drops on window sills...

Khor Rori

There is a place in the south of Oman , about an hour's drive away from the city of Salalah. The place is called Khor Rori. It is an isolated stretch of sand and sea and cliffs that seems to go on for miles in either direction. In the midst of this immensity , there lie the ruins of structures from long ago of an old port town and some others that at least at that time hadn't been identified. Khor Rori was also an important point on the fabled Frankincense Trail that stretched from the Dhofar region to Jerusalem. I first went there in the winter of 2004. Having been brought up in the Sultanate , I still find it hard to believe that it took me more than 25 years to go explore one of the most beautiful regions in the country.

Phrases such as 'virgin beaches' are often thrown around carelessly. I doubt though anyone would understand what that truly means until one sees the beaches at Khor Rori. The waters of the sea in their shades of azure and cerulean and green takes one's breath away. Every legend and myth and fairy story you ever heard try to find space in your head. As cliches jostle around and as exclamations of 'ohhh!' and 'wow!' and 'oh my god!' peter out,you are left with perfect silence.

Silence is the only prayer acceptable in the end in this place. Even a herd of camels that tip toed down to the water was quiet.History and time and stories stop mattering. Maybe some people would call it good vibrations and maybe that is what I felt that winter. All I can say for certain is that I have never felt like that again- that feeling of privilege to be in a place that felt so preternaturally sacred. The sugary sand served up for my  pleasure to accompany that pristine water and the purest of cerulean winter skies felt like it had been put there just for me. That moment in time was mine alone when everything came together- in perfect isolation.

Found this photo online

Here's a site I found that has excellent photographs of the area and the more historic details. I particularly love the photographs of Oman taken by this gentlemen - Eric Lafforgue and his photograph of Khor Rori is simply stunning!

Falling in love

Discovering a new author is like falling in love. It happens in unexpected ways . You are forever changed and you begin to see things with greater clarity.

My current favorite author is Mona Simpson. I came upon her quite by accident or at least a round about route. I chanced upon her writing through reading about her brother -Steve Jobs. Whatever the initial reasons for reading her work, I have now come to love her writing. I am currently reading My Hollywood. There is something about the way she writes that just about breaks my heart. I find myself sucked into a world where I can hear the characters talk and see what they see and feel what they feel. This , for the longest time, has been my assessment of a good writer.

I have to say though this hasn't always happened with what are often called 'the classics'. I think the first time a 'classic' hit me like that was when I read Anne Bronte's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.I eventually read that book at least 8 more times- cover to cover. I wish she had written more. Agnes Grey was touching but mostly in the sense that it was Anne finding herself as a writer. Wilkie Collins' The Woman in White was the second time that lightning struck. I neither wanted the book to end nor could I take my eyes off the pages even to go to the bathroom or to take the time out for a bite to eat.

Simpson, however, captures my imagination in a different way. Reading her book has been a bit like taking my heart out of my chest and holding it out to be crushed anytime anyone chooses. I have not set out here to write a review of the book ( plenty of people have already done that and in wonderful ways!). Instead , it leaves me wishing I had such felicity with words- the talent to evoke such images of the maps of the human heart. Her work feels like a cartography of that most mysterious of human organs.

I watch helplessly the unfolding drama and would like to get to the denouement. It might be crushing . It might be disappointing. It might leave a bitter taste in the mouth. But I must know.