By Parson Thru
This is paradise.
As close as I’m going to get on planet Earth.
The new green shoots high in the trees.
Blossom falling like rain.
Fountains and lakes.
The sense of harmlessness, good nature.
I’ve never known so much of that.
My student – senior corporate numbers man
– told me he’d been to watch a stage production:
Dostoyevsky’s “The Idiot”. Way ahead of me.
Woman running for the bus – the driver waits, pops the door open.
All hang on as he guns it through the traffic,
stamping first on one pedal, then the next. Pulling Gs.
“Buenas tardes” to each and every entrant.
The golden light of primavera slanting through the trees
against haphazard balconies and shutters.
The deepening sky and glow of brake-lights in the dusk.
Ever-so-slight chill of evening – ok in a light jacket.
The love of students, male and female.
Sitting under trees with a picnic of roast chicken, crackling and chocolate
with double hops beer. Feeling like a desperado. Alien. I am.
Brexit! Brexit! Brexit!
This is a country for family, friends and sport. Joggers.
The undeniable beauty of Spanish women. And the warmth of men.
I read Graham Greene under the trees. “The Power And The Glory”. 1947 edition. Europe only. Not for sale in the British Empire or U.S.A.
That’s what it’s all about – Empire – exploitation, control.
The flag enforcing laws of commerce. Slavery etc.
Spain was shown the door in 1713. Best thing that ever happened.
Owned by foreigners: Romans, Habsburgs, Bourbons.
Bloody mess that was, but you get the feeling they’ve learned something.
More than we have.
Now they ride the tiger – more or less
– whilst the tiger rides us.
Drop off for lunch, for family, for cena, for football.
Beach or pueblo for the summer – too hot for anything else.
Sleep? Life’s too short (we part ways there).
I’m reaching for an “after this” picture, but it’s not coming.
I’ll have to cut against the grain.
A temporary state of affairs.
This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.
I know what the right thing is, instinctively.
But, as I told someone this evening,
this is where they’ll bury my bones.
Did I mention sex?
It’s like bread. Barra? Integral?