A while ago (11.30 pm) I posted a reply to Windnsea's nice haiku on rabbits at sunrise. There was a power failure while I was writing, so I unplugged the computer and went out to the gallery ('galería', traditional ground level covered porch in these yere parts...) to enjoy the rain. Such as it is. Somewhat more than a drizzle, but far less than we hunger and thirst for after the usual 6-months winter/spring drought.

But, while sitting there and enjoying the reflection of the back street light on the goosepond, there was another power cut. So we (the three geese, two cats and I) were left in Mother Nature's womblike, humid night, to contemplate the pleasures of survival in this remote retreat.

Water: three hours a day. Enough to provide the geese with sufficient drink, and sometimes even fill their leaky pond. Carefully administrated, sufficient for household maintennance and baths. Never enough for a proper garden; Two small azaleas, three lavender bushes, three rosemary bushes, several blackberry plants, a few strawberries (which the birds enjoy), a gardenia (the house smells delicious!) a Colombian Passiflora and the Oncydium orchid growing on the mulberry tree in the centre of the pond, are individually, sparingly watered every second day. Most of the lawn is still yellow...

Electricity: Frequent power cuts, usually when there's a bit of a breeze, or maybe a little drizzle. Also frequent power overloads (goodness only knows why) which in the last month burnt out several light bulbs, including their supports - haven't replaced anything yet, I can still make do with what I have - and oveheated the fridge motor. So the light company has paid for replacement of the fridge motor (not for the week without refrigeration nor the food that had to be thrown out - hope the birds enjoyed it!).

So what's so great about living in Salta, Argentina? The city is filthy, crowded, noisy, smelly. And the outskirts, where I live, might be described as sub-primitive. But:

Just listen to the (relative) silence! Right now there's the slight drip of rain off the roof, a cricket out by the workshop, and a toad in the goosepond. No sound of traffic from the new road 100 meters away. Not a hint of human habitation closer at hand - tomorrow is a work day, and, being almost one hour past midnight, everyone is properly asleep.

I am not happy. I am contented. Happiness is fleeting. I enjoy it once in a while.

I am usually beset by economic concerns. But somehow, when I'm at the very brink of financial disaster, a translation job, or a rich pupil, turns up and saves the day. So, I no longer worry about food for my companions and me. We survive, and enjoy the peace of our surroundings. I sometimes get behind in taxes, but know that sooner or later I'll catch up. Sometimes I have to ask a friend (and he's always there when I need him!) for a buck to tide me over; but I always manage to pay him back, and there's satisfaction in this. I give what I can to my fellow creatures, and gratefully receive what they and life have to offer.

I am contented. This present experience is good, and having been able, at least until now, to surpass the difficulties on the road, has provided a sense of purpose and success, even in the failure of dreams and ambitions, which I would not have been able to envision earlier in life. I believe all this is good. I also believe there is no reason nor benefit in doubting this belief. Which is, perhaps, a final admission that I am capable of some sort of faith. And I choose not to question the validity of this faith. Not tonight...