The Gruffalo Woods.

I have succumbed to the insta- frankynightingale

 

Black cats and Coca-Cola.

Tippy Top.

In the mountains: peaks of limestone streaked in black,white and tan- like the first bushman painting, Mother Nature rock art. In the inclined dips, soft green fields and round trees stick. And at their feet, far below, is a cloudy blue heaven, a stream that is so icy it bites. The canal like a slit, parallel to the path we follow. Drops that breed butterflies in the nest of your stomach. Coffee and hot chips on the other side.

 

Flamenco like never before.

No words.

Something special.

Sai in Sevilla.

Sevilla- second round.

It’s so hot the pidgeons are delirious, walking in circles- their small brains confused beyond instinct by the mid summer.
Listening to the uneven jar of church bells, although oddly delightful, I had a vision of Faulty Towers complaining about the racket, sevilles’s fourth racket.
I have been surrounded by so much beauty today.
The water garden, plaza de espania.
Black fish, as long as my arm as fat as my thigh. A palace with secret rooms, every single one ornately carved, wood so pretty you have to run your hands all over it. Hedges that are geometrically correct. Deep red hibiscus against the olive green. bougainvillea two stories high, suffocating.
Plaza de espania. A time travelers paradise, my brother blows bubbles and we sit on mosaiced benches and tell each other stories, fun in the sun.

 

Ponder Ronda Wonder.

 

Ronda: a drop into something divine. A sleepy town that ends at the edge of a cliff. The new and old bridged by stone, hanging over a chasm of sharp rocks and cold water. Little streets in yellow and white, thick Spanish southernness and a fat bull ring sitting square as a circle full of yellow heat that pulses into the open, empty stands.
Benches with numbers placed too close together. The quiet of the space has an effect, exciting the imagination into the roar of a crowd and the delicacy of a man teasing a bull to it’s death. Dusty sandals.
High heels on cobbled stones. Fancy dresses against dirty walls. Perfume in the thick, warm hair.
Roast veg in olive oil topped with blue berries and goats cheese. Chicken and fresh veg paella. Salad: green leaves-quale eggs-watermellon balls-radishes-fig-tomato-pine nuts

The deep blue and purple of open fields and sloped mountains. The sound of hooves on cobbled stones. A sudden church bell. Ronda as Hemingway may have seen it.

 

 

 

Street love.

Salt stained sarongs.

N. Spain, ankle deep in flowers.