Calico Pennants by David A. Ross Page B

cascaded over a ninety-foot embankment and plunged into the largest of seven descending pools. From the water she drew her vitality.
    As she danced to the rhythms of the tropics, lost in time, the rain forest was her only partner. Inveterate ferns cloaked the forest floor like decorative ruffles along the hem of a full skirt, and were contrasted by the vibrant and prolific red blooms of the Poinciana. The aerial roots of the banyan trees sought the moisture of the volcanic earth, and tall palms opened like umbrellas overhead. The yellow, red, and green ti leaves and arching bamboo shoots filled every open space, and broad-leafed philodendrons wound round and round the gnarled bark of the monkeypods. The twisting trunks of the dracaenas reminded her of her own divergent destiny. Shortly after her arrival on the island—immersed in the largest of the seven pools—she had chosen to re-christen herself. The relinquishing of her outworn persona came after an incisive and perilous twist of fate—a crash landing. Marooned and quite alone in Paradise, it was essential that she befriend herself without qualification, and she bestowed upon herself the immutable and loyal appellation, Amie.
    Placing her offering on top of a volcanic stone at poolside, she heard the distant rumble of thunder. Last night’s storm was moving away. During her time spent as a castaway, Amie had weathered countless storms, yet this morning she felt uneasy. Something unspecified, and perhaps unwanted, remained in the wake of the tempest.
    Tossing her long hair back she unfastened the sennit rope that held her skirt round her waist and let the garment drop to the ground. She took the flower lei from her neck and carefully placed it nearby. Bending down, she noticed a small spider spinning its gossamer web among the ferns. The tiny arachnid’s home was an intricate network of connections, as was her own. With eyes raised and arms outstretched she paid homage, as she did each morning, to the spirits of earth, air, fire, and water. Bathed in temporal light she stood naked and unashamed.
    Amie moved to the side of the pool, her lengthy stride declaring a propensity to motion. Gazing innocently into the crystalline water she drew a single, amazed breath, for she barely recognized her own reflected image.
    Her blue-gray eyes shone clear and lucid, her face tawny and smooth. Spreading over her cheeks, nose, and forehead, a precipitous field of freckles lent her face comic relief. A small gap between her two front teeth, which she’d had since childhood, continued to make her self-conscious about her smile even though there was nobody here to see it. Over time her lips had grown fuller, and the tiny crow’s feet around her eyes had mysteriously disappeared. Amie admired her fine neck and proud shoulders and recalled how her long legs and slim hips had once been perfect for Coco Chanel’s nouveau fashions. The passing years had not diminished her figure in the least. If anything, it was even better now.
    Indulging a moment of recapitulation, she tossed a pebble into the pool and watched as concentric circles spread out over the top of the placid water. How many years had passed? There was really no way of knowing how long she’d been marooned on the island. Seasonable variation was quite subtle, and the meridian at which the sun rose and set deviated not more than a couple of degrees. The procession of days came and went without tangible distinction, and weeks turned into months, months into years.
    In the beginning the establishment of rituals had helped her maintain her sanity in the face of isolation and loneliness. Over time such routines became a spiritual comfort. Ephemeral symbols evolved and deepened; her daily devotions became more joy than habit.
    Shortly after her arrival Amie ventured away from the sandy, palm-lined coast to explore the inland territory. The beach front surrendered suddenly to a razory cluster of peaks. Each one, she estimated, rose