take it, nature
February 10, 2024
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Back to the balcony. I might even call it a magical balcony. It's tiny but perfect as it faces “Espejo del Alma” to the east, orange and avocado trees to the north and the valley below down south. West is just — well, it isn’t “just’ — a blue cement wall. It’s peppered with artisanal painted plates and terracotta pots full of succulents and cacti, mind you. And “cement” is probably an ignorant — I’m no builder, nor am I a stoner in terms of laying rock — use of the word.
I'm sure these Andalusian homes are made with something a bit more classy and traditional than just cement a.k.a. water and grit. In fact, they probably put more of their own H2O in sweat form and grit in terms of perseverance under that sweltering Spanish sun when they built it. More muscle and soul poured into it rather than via a machine. -
My handwriting is a hybrid of cursive and print. It's the love child of what I learned in second grade only to forget by third. I think we only learned to write in cursive to be able to read our grandmothers’ handwriting.
Anyway, what stuck was some letters that connect with each other, others that don’t. I like it. It’s messy and neat. It’s like my handwriting gets it — gets life. The flow, connection and disconnection. The chaos and calm. Some things just fit and flow into each other, others don't. -
It's not supposed to rain like yesterday. That was a downpour. Such a rain that lots of oranges fell from the trees. I rescued them, of course.
“When it rains, it poranges!” -
I need to stop this planning. Live here now. I’m looking out and the gray clouds are rolling in.
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Nature, universe you know me. I'll let you take it from here. Like always.