Monday, March 09, 2009

A Writer in Andalusia


The front door of the house looks anonymous - just a small door at the end of a small narrow street. Opening the front door you step into the cool patio area... where there is silence and plants and the hopeful spray of sunlight... the visitor is welcomed....


The first door you come to on the left is where the writer in Andalusia (WiA) has his habitation... should you enter in - to peer? to disturb? to wonder? Instead, the visitor glances around this secluded courtyard....


Across they see the only other habitation - a second house which stands empty and deserted. In the middle a small lemon tree waits to bud... waits to seed new lemons to hang from its branches... the visitor casts a glance again...



...the solitary chair looks deserted too... the sitter scared away perhaps? the WiA hitting a mental block that catalyzes disappearance? Look more...




The courtyard shows traces of a presence..... so the visitor peeks through the door of the little house... and sees the stairs leading up.....


...yet feeling uninvited the visitor leaves the prying and returns outside... and wanders down some strange steps that lead away from the courtyard and into a cave tunnel... where could they possibly go...?




...Follow the sunlight and the tunnel emerges out into.... an inviting terrace.... a hidden gem away from all expectations....




Looking around the visitor sees it is a perfect place for seclusion.... a writer's retreat high up on the cliffside.... hugging the cliff wall and looking out onto the Andalusian landscape...



...from every angle the distance melts away and makes the visitor wonder what the hills know... what Nature knows... and the mind begins to wander too...



...The rocks fall far below... there is no way forward.. only retreat... is this the place where one should hide out? Can the rocks keep secrets?....




And somewhere.... amidst the ominous silence, thoughts are wrangled day and night... and energies are never left to disperse like orphans... as each bit of tender energy is directed towards its destination... there is Work to be done....

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1 comment:

Angela said...

Beautiful.