I took a bath

I arrived in Spain to rain. The arid tones deepened and the geometric swirls, slices and scoops of the mountains and fields below the aircraft were resonant in bass notes. The landscape had taken a bath, the air washed clean.

As did I, having left the cracks in the familiar patterns of life behind in Scotland for a few days. I would refresh myself, cleanse my soul in the familiar caminos of the Vega Baja, along the shorelines of deep undertow in Guardamar, the salt lakes of San Pedro.

Imagine this: knitting needles furiously clicking their stitches and creating a carpet of chattering springtime elation. This was the sound the coutryside made when I walked in the dawn. Serins knitted their claim to the land in fervent song creating the most sparkling soundtrack in the dry air.
The orange and lemon orchards were in bloom. So as I walked the heavy perfume took my breath from me. The land was on the pull,  I was lungful of joy.
The Sierras sawed the skyline back and forth. Cutting and shedding the light in dusky tones. The light too intense to reveal the crevices and canes and pine trees and thyme and nuances of ochre across the horizon. So they were cleft and cut and scattered to the bend and secretion of shadow and rumours of caves.
Later I walked the sparkling shallow stink of the salt lakes. Pale sand, mountains of salt and a jetty walk kilometres into the winking face of the sea. The first singe of summer on the wind. Flamingos leg planted in the mineral rich sludge beneath the water......

And a hundred other things that I don't have the time to write just now. For I am off to prepare for the funeral that will take place tomorrow. But I feel better, my head clearer. I took a bath in a landscape that I love. I breathe deeper. I step surer.