From fiercely clear sun of Spain to the moody blue clouds of the Netherlands in a few hours. The difference is between one world and another and manifests in the sounds and smells and thoughtless rhythms of the day.
The walking and the seeing done.
Sitting.
Listening to a moment.
In a reconstruction of a 12th century Moorish home, a couple of turtles wandered freely in a central courtyard. There was shade, a fountain. Plants grew thickly in the corners.
But one of the turtles had set her eyes on the horizon, and she was going to get there, geometry be damned.
I could watch this video over and over and over.
During our time in Spain, the swifts were always there, calling out from above in chorus.
High up, the flocks loop broadly in a deep sea of air. But nearer the ground they swirl and dive, surging here, dashing there, quick and agile.
Late in the evenings, bats screech and flutter beneath them.
The afternoon heat in Andalusia crushes rather than burns. There’s no air, not enough shade, and if you go out, it’s easy to wander around stunned and dazed and bad off.
Water, as this bird knows, offers relief, and fountains have never looked so beautiful.
I’m away on vacation for a few more weeks. More posts when I’m back.
Until then, here’s a portion of a mural in a monastery in Santiponce, Spain.
