village life – Page 21 – don't confuse the narrator

harvest

I’ve mentioned before that there’s an old guy who keeps cerdos on the plot of land alongside the olivar. Just two pigs, each year: one for each of his daughters. I’ve started taking the windfalls across for them when I walk down to the village.

When the guy isn’t there, I leave the bag by the chair where he sits each day, morning and evening, watching the pigs get fat. Sometimes one of the other viejos del pueblo joins him and they put the world to rights while the old burro grazes patiently, tethered to an olive tree.
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sunrise; moonset

In reality, the mountains were even redder and the moon was rather clearer. Clicking on the photo will give a bigger, slightly brighter, version.

(If you’re wondering, yes, it’s “shopped”, inasmuch as I cloned out some cables. If I’d walked far enough to take the picture without them being in the way, the colours would have been completely lost.)

dogs, whistles and the dark ages

I think Ávila always have some kind of Medieval Fair at this time of year, but it’s the first time our village has decided to do the same. So, for a couple of days the castle courtyard and carpark have been given over to tents and stalls and general activity that has about as little to do with the Middle Ages as is possible.
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positivity check

When I first moved to Spain, the country was suffering a drought.

shoe boxes left behind after a street market

I think that lasted for the first eight years that I lived in Madrid, and, understandably, I didn’t really appreciate how bad it was, as I had nothing to compare the weather to. Yes, it was sunny; yes it was hot; but wasn’t that what Spanish weather was meant to be like?

(We all have a tendency to fall back on stereotypes. When I tell people I live in Spain they assume I must live on one of those fictional costas where no one ever does any work but spends all day and all the long, hot night sitting at a terraza on the beach drinking iced beer or cheap vino tinto.)
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the fruits of the earth

While each grape dreams a dream
of champagne-bubble destiny, figs
turn to honey on the branch. Pumpkins swell,
and melons hoard up sunshine, sprawled
voluptuous on their beds of straw.

There was just enough blue sky to take the photo this morning – yes, figs do sometimes grow vertically upwards, and although they look less appetising, the honey-brown ones that are beginning to wrinkle are the sweetest. The clouds are gathering again, though, so the poor melons and pumpkins are more likely to be ‘bathing voluptuous’ in fields all around the Valle del Tiétar within an hour or so.