I’ve mentioned bonfires a couple of times in the last week, and I reckon half the village have been out in their gardens, taking advantage of the sunshine and what, for many, is a long weekend. They haven’t all been busy at the same task, though:
Clear
above the bitter smoke of bonfires
the scent of new-mown grass
I was particularly surprised by that as my lawn looked like this until about midday:
Continue reading “seasons”
La inmaculada, 2012
In the orchard, you
are busy pruning
and tending a bonfire.
In the kitchen, the toaster
fails to pop; I offer up
my own burnt offering
to the Virgin.
In fact – as far as I know – Spain has no tradition of sacrificial fires to celebrate the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, but most of the ‘clouds’ in the photo are really bonfire smoke, which does make me wonder.
There’s a longer poem for la Inmaculada, posted a couple of years ago, which was inspired by the painting by Tiépolo.
Yesterday, when I commented that at this time of year the air is full of a mixture of mist, cloud and bonfire smoke, I forgot two other factors that fog the village skies.
First of all, many of the older houses in the area rely on log fires for heating and their chimneys are belching smoke before the sun is up.
Then there’s the smoke from cigarettes and cigars. When I moved to Spain, the smell of cigarette smoke shocked me; I’ve just found this in an article I wrote about Madrid nearly ten years ago:
[cigarette smoke] drapes itself around you like an over-friendly drunk in bars; it shares your table uninvited in restaurants
At this time of year, all round the valley, everyone is busy pruning trees and vines and making the most of the dry weather for bonfires. The clouds, mist and smoke all blend and it’s impossible to tell which it is hanging in the still air.
Bonfire after pruning;
at nightfall, the green wood
is still singing
Jungle-blossom fungi
cluster around tree stumps;
the air smells of woodsmoke
don't confuse the narrator 