On a train to Ronda

16 February 2009

Como viene la primavera –

Spring comes in Andalucía when the almond trees blossom. Small. White or pale pink. There are purple wildflowers in the countryside now. Grass grows between the rows of olives.

I have no pictures. You’re going to have to take my word for it.

The window: Views slide past without effort. When we cross into Málaga there are gorges, bulls grazing in grassy orchards. Three goatherders, old men in windbreakers, wave at the train.

I have never touched an olive tree. A friend tells me the leaves are velvety. I have never touched an olive tree. How have I never touched an olive tree?

See something every day & it feels familiar even if you don’t really know it.

A platform that is just a concrete shack, scabbing white paint, young peoples’ names carved into the walls. The oldest dated 18th of July, 1999.

There is nothing near the platform. Fields. A dirt road. A man gets off at the stop, starts walking.

Broken glass & old metal thrown by the tracks. Town: Setenil de las Bodegas.

The mountains above Granada (I am walking to the train station, two hours ago): sheathed in snow – blinding white, ice, in the sunlight, the clear blue sky, and below, walking through a park where a grandmother sits, squinting, dirt paths, pines, a man with grey dreads lighting up a bowl, you can see them & hear birdsong. I think of García Lorca:

El río Guadalquivir
va entre naranjos y olivos.
Los dos ríos de Granada
bajan de la nieve al trigo.

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2 Responses to “On a train to Ronda”

  1. Jackie Says:

    So beautiful.

  2. Ashley Says:

    I love this.


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