The Spanish Countryside

It’s the trees that really get me, you know? They pass by like and blur together behind cool glass illuminated by the sun. They’re spread out over hills until your eye can’t see anymore. They’re old, they’re wise, and they’ve seen it all. The rolling mound of this peninsula has me at a loss for words and at a desire to roam. I’d like to just throw everything I know away and roam until my feet can’t carry me anymore. Then I’d sleep and walk some more. I’d like to live like the gypsies and know their culture, their way of life, their secret occult beliefs that provide them the insight that so many seem to have forgotten.

Have you seen the sunflowers? There are fields and fields of them, brightening the landscape with their bright and cheery faces, rising up and following the sun like an unspoken revelry day in and out until they rest their heads at night. They illuminate a cold heart and warm even the bleakest of mountaintops.

The roads seem to stretch into eternity here. Just when you think that you’ve reached the end of one, you’re met with yet another hill and then miles more of these curving devices that divide and guide its weary travelers toward destinations desired.

And the history of this place, oh lest we not forget the history of thousands and thousands of years. Close your eyes and imagine the millions of marching men that paraded over those hills in the distance not but yesterday it seems—though we all know that it was well over 2000 years ago that these Grecians and Romans conquered, rose, and fell all within the blink of an eye, but left behind heritage and rich culture.

These buildings have seen the sun and smiles, cries and wars, survived it all like the trees. They hint at us who once was and what was helped to construct them.

Spain—here and now, the same as yesterday as it will be tomorrow. Thankfully we have today to see it all.