Category: animals

wild boars and motorbikes

During a break in the rain this afternoon, I went for a brief walk. The whole thing only took me about 40 minutes, and I met and spoke to three guys. The first, walking a small dog along the road down by the river, simply wished me good afternoon. Then I turned off the road onto a trail up between the olive groves and towards the pine woods.

There I met a neighbour whose first reaction was, “¿No tienes miedo de caminar por aquí?” I said no, I wasn’t afraid, and he hastened to assure me there were lots of jabalíes in the area; he definitely seemed concerned when I didn’t pale at the thought of bumping in to a wild boar in the middle of the afternoon half a mile from my own back yard.
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local transport

One thing that never ceases to amaze me about Spain is how easy it is to find scenes of traditional village life.

I’m not talking about travelling to the more remote provinces such as León, where, according to today’s El Mundo, there are 23 municipalities with fewer than 200 registered residents.
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swallows

with primaries taut, they finger-tip
the contoured air, screeching
a splay-tailed upward glide to peak

then tuck – dip – swoop –

and skim the puddled mud,
gape-mouthed and hungering.

 
 
It’s San José – St Joseph’s Day – which is Father’s Day in Spain, and a bank holiday in parts of the country. It’s also the day that the swallows return to Capistrano, which is why I’ve chosen to post this poem. (Or, perhaps, this ‘poem draft’.)
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like a lamb

Well, we’ve reached the end of the month and the expression “February fill dyke” has never seemed more appropriate.

How March is to come in remains to be seen: last night, I thought it was going to come roaring like a lion, but today has been as mild a day as you could wish for. On a walk back from the village at lunch time I saw:

  • swallows: I don’t know how many it takes to make a summer in Spain, but there were several.
  • lizards: not the first of the season, but the first time this year that I have seen more than just the one.
  • a stork circling the church tower.
  • a bat: I thought for a moment it was another swallow, but there’s no doubt it was a bat, even though it was broad daylight.
  • a red admiral butterfly: who must have managed to weather the storms and was now enjoying the sunshine

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mardi garden

The cats are twitterpated: lords and ladies
of misrule, they squeal like St Martin’s pigs
in their carnal carnival. Birds’ nests burgeon
in the hedges and, on the early apricot,
a choir of ruby buds swells, ready to burst
into scented song.

 
 
More “notes for a poem” than a finished poem, I think. And they were notes taken several years ago.
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