In my natural habitat. 🏝
Let me tell y’all a story. So I once lived on St. John, a sleepy, 9-mile-long island in the Caribbean. We used to go to a beach called Hawksnest Bay pretty often. One of those days, a friend and I decided to build a hut on the beach using the fallen palm tree fronds as walls. We padded up our walls, tying the fronds together using some vine to keep it secure. We made a living room and sectioned off a bedroom, using a piece of vine through some other fallen leaves to create a sliding door effect. We made a bathroom. We were working on trying to figure out running water for our shower when it was time for us to leave. We decided we’d come back the next day to continue our project.
The next day, we returned to devastation. Our beautiful hut was destroyed, trampled. Someone who worked at the beach told us it was the herd of wild donkeys that ran around the island.
I’d heard stories about the wild donkeys. How my dad’s old dog used to corner them on cliffs for fun, and how they blocked roads. But I never once saw them. To this day, those donkeys remained as mysterious and unbelievable as the tooth fairy. I’m still pretty certain they don’t exist. (Tbh they probably do, but I’m bitter.)