Tropical Island Grove

(rain pattering) The island grove is shaped by rain, time, and touch. Vines wander their own quiet paths and the trees sway in the breeze, murmuring night tales to the stars. This endearing tropical farm sits at the end of a long dirt road. Beyond the paved station where travelers step off the final sleeper bus of the day. As we prepare for our visit, let's take a moment for a brief wind down exercise. Tonight's exercise is a really simple breathing exercise. So when you're ready, let's begin. So first, get comfortable in your bed. Now, just bringing the attention to the breath. Just noticing where you feel it. In the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. You're nice and relaxed. We are going to be taking a deep breath. In for four, holding it for four, and then breathing out for six. So, are you ready? Let's begin. In for four. Two, three, four. Hold it for four. Two, three, four. Now breathing out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four. Holding for four, two, three, four. Out for six, two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four. Holding for four, two, three, four. Out for six, two, three, four, five, six. In for four, two, three, four. Holding for four, two, three, four. Out for six, two, three, four, five, six. Great. Now returning the breath to normal. (insects chirping) Past the tree nursery and into a quiet clearing where the soil is soft and the air feels a touch cooler. An honored guest has made herself at home. She's a tortoise. Her shell is sandy brown with patches of sun-faded green. And each ridge is worn into a soft hexagonal shape, like a puzzle built by time. She moves like a windup toy that's lost most of its spring, but still has places to be. (insects chirping) No one knows exactly how long she's been coming to the island grove. Some say she's older than the oldest jackfruit tree. Others believe she was here before the first compost pile was ever turned. But everyone agrees, when she arrives the trees seem to stand a little taller. A she meanders through the rows of saplings like a gardener, pausing near a guava sprout not quite taller than her knee. As she goes, she noses through leaves on the ground or pokes under low branches, searching for fallen fruit. How she found the island is a bit of a mystery. Tortoises aren't exactly known for island living. Mara, who helps tend the grove, affectionately calls her Zippy and claims she's the grove's most cherished visitor. The aisle of dreams sits just off the coast where the scent of citrus sometimes rides the sea breeze. At first glance, it looks like the beginning of a pirate's tale. From the mainland, it shimmers in the setting sun, a patch of green mist where the sky meets the water. The island...