healingwords: poetry for the soul

This year the Summer Solstice falls on the 20th June, today is the longest day before our hours of sunlight slowly reduce. This is a view of the Penyal D'Ifach in Calp, also known as the Peñon. Night falls quickly in Spain, this was taken at dusk as the sun left the sky. I the previous half hour the sky was alive with swooping swifts, flying at great speed towards the cliffs, skimming the rocks before entering their roosts in the crumbling cracks.  

The swallow population is at its peak now with the fledglings all now gaining strength and joining their flock. At dusk and zone our house seems to be at the centre of a vortex of birds as they fly over the roof, skimming the terrace, whizzing past the front windows. There is a flock of maybe 50 or more birds and they swoop in formations of up to 10, missing windows and walls by mere inches. It is an incredible sight with the added benefit of clearing up the mosquitos before they bite! I have spent hours trying to capture them in a photograph, arms up until it makes me dizzy but the birds are too fast. I am left with a trace of their amazing flight as I gasp at the speed and agility. 

How wonderful to see the sea today as the wind whipped up the waves, the sun sparkled and the white half moon hung in the sky above the waving palm trees.

This magnificent outcrop of rock tops the hills near the village of Benigembla, a short drive from my home. I took the photograph from the hills on the other side of valley, the road winding up both sides of the valley. The slopes below are covered in pine, the afternoon was a perfect combination of warm sun and cool breeze, the dirt track reminding me of walking on trails cut through the woods for power lines in British Columbia many years ago. 

Chamomile grows freely on the hills in this region of Spain, some large clumps growing as big as an armchair. Locals have always picked stems of the flower to boil and drink both for all kinds of digestive problems but also as an aid to sleep. I drink 'manzanilla' for both issues. Along with mint tea, known as menta here, it is a popular choice after a meal, especially if it is too late for a dose of caffeine. Many people will not drink coffee in the evening as it keeps them awake. If I wake in the night and insomnia strikes, after an hour or so of tossing and turning I will make a manzanilla and soon drop back to sleep.  

I spotted this giant grasshopper sat still on my patio. It looked lost and didn't jump away. The patio is enclosed within 4 steep walls so I have no idea how it arrived, maybe it was blown in on the wind. We carried it carefully back to the countryside where it shuffled away into the grass.  Grasshopper in Spanish is 'saltamontes'. I love this word, it literally means jumping mountains. I hope this prehistoric looking creature recovered its energy and was able  to jump mountains again. 

The terraces in the countryside around the village are dotted with daisies. I was out an hour before sunset, already many of the flowers in the shade were closing. It reminded me of the origin of the word daisy, 'day's eye', as the sun drops and the petals close over the yellow suns. 

The terraces around the village have historically been planted with olive trees,  almonds, grape vines and 'garrofers'. In recent times orange and lemon trees have replaced many of these dry zone crops, despite the need for watering in this drought affected area. In my thirty years here I have seen the loss of the carob as a comercial crop. I can remember the hessian sacks full of crisp, black pods in every village garage and the sweet smell permeating the village in Autumn. The carob used to be sold as pig food but now it is now longer commercially viable the seeds litter the ground and the trees grow wild. They have a very particular gnarly bark and the trunks often hollow out as new branches loop down to the ground and perpetuate the tree. 

This is a photograph of the hillside from the first week in May last year. I have not been able to go there since early March, two months ago. The flowers bloom almost overnight, colours spreading over the verges, changing each week, often grouped by colour. I remember once counting ten different yellow flowers on one walk through the pine and oak.  Soon I will be back there, under the trees. 

Our children have been managing with varying degrees of patience and frustration with 6 weeks of being shut indoors due to the Covid 19 virus controls in Spain. Yesterday they were allowed out with a parent. My grandson was able to take his bike into the campo and spent his hour pedalling in the sunshine. I spoke to him on the phone, he was so excited, telling me he was outside, not just on his pocket patio, but 'the real outside'. Our changing reality is a challenge for families and it is good to see them reacting with such responsibility and creativity. 

This strange topsy turvey tree stump seemed rooted into the ground in an olive grove near my home. It now seems a good illustration of the confusing times we are living through where everything we took for granted is in question. What is certain is the land will continue to green without us, the olives will grow and ripen in time for their Autumn collection. Hopefully by then I will be able to walk among them.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Easter is a busy time in my village as houses fill with people coming back to their family homes. The church is full on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and at Midnight Mass and Sunday morning Resurrection Mass. The band accompanies the village on the Good Friday solemn procession and again at dawn on Sunday morning with the staging of the 'Encuentro'. I have been involved in the 'Encuentro since my eldest daughter first played in the band and more so since we moved to our home in the centre of the village. The band assembles before first light, youngsters bleary eyed from nights without sleep at their Easter camps. The streets are silent as a column of men process with the statue of a prone Jesus passing my house, whilst the village women walk behind the statue of Mary cloaked in mourning black. The two meet as the sun rises in the bakers street where a young 'Festera', her hair dressed with a black mantilla, removes the cloak to reveal Mary in her golden glory, in celeb...

These brilliant green leaves illuminated with the low afternoon sun brightened the dried fennel stalks lining the terraces. This photograph was taken a day before the Spanish lock down. I wonder after nearly four weeks how the hills and fields are greening, as Spring rains and warmth will be firing growth and painting the landscape.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I have never been able to photograph a swallow in flight, despite trying for hours as they swoop over my roof terrace or through the narrow village streets. My brother Chris Knight took this image when he stayed in the village and the birds kept him awake from dawn each morning, flocking in the plaza from their mud spit nests under house eaves. This morning they were back again, high in the sky, chasing insects, greeting the day.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

The moon woke me this morning as it shone in my bedroom window. Looking over the roof terrace towards the mountains I watched it track over the mountain, before slipping over the horizon as dawn broke spreading light from the rising sun. My eye was caught by a sudden dart of black across the terrace. Another one became clearer, at first I thought it was a bat but the movement was swifter. As night turned into day I watched the familiar flocks of wood pigeons as they flew from the hills to the village. Then I saw them, swooping over the roof tops, darting in front of my window, flashing up into the sky. The swallows had returned. There must always be a day when the migrating birds arrive from their winter in Africa but this year I was awake and able to spot their first morning. In these difficult times when looking ahead seems impossible the return of the swallows brings me much needed hope.    © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This was one of the last photographs I took before being isolated at home as the Spanish government ordered the population to stay in their homes. Unlike other countries we are not allowed out for walks or exercise and with an existing health condition I have not been out of my front door for over three weeks. The orange blossom will be fading now but at its peak the exquisite, sweet perfume from the fields of orange trees wafts over the whole village. I like the idea of people isolated in their homes being united by the scent of blossom as it permeates the village in a reminder that growth, nature, life continues outside our doors.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I took this photograph in late February, just before the virus news started to shock Spain. The processionary caterpillars drop down from their nest in the pine trees and start to march. They are well camouflaged on the gravel paths and we nearly stepped over three different columns. They are extremely dangerous to humans and animals. A touch of their hair can cause blisters on the skin or affect the breathing if inhaled. I watched them move, nose to tail and wondered if they knew where they were going, at what point would they separate and start eating before continuing their life cycle. This year that process is happening unseen as people are kept indoors. 

As I can not get out into nature to take my normal photographs I am having to look closer to home. Today the sun broke through after 11 days of cloud hiding the hills and dropping much needed rain on the campo. We all went outside to the patio to see some welcome blue sky and I spotted the light shining on the Echeveria plant. The raindrops nestling in the leaves shone like diamonds, the succulent still showing marks from the hail which fell a few weeks ago. This plant is a survivor, it can withstand long periods without water, it reproduces and grows rapidly as leaves fall and are replaced. They are a common balcony plant in the village where they hang down through the iron bars from curly, gnarled stems.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Second day of isolation at home and I am looking out over my roof terrace to the mountains. It is a chill, grey day, clouds hanging over the hills. I have the windows open to let fresh air flow through the house. The air is full of birdsong, I can hear a chain saw but no cars. My son is practising his saxophone, I can not remember the last time he picked up his instrument but he has already thought of things to fill his time. It feels strange, like our little corner of the world is suspended from normal life. We are thinking of what we eat, making sure we do not waste any food, planning ahead.  I like many have complained about the negative impact of social media but in this situation it is an amazing tool. As long as I do not obsess on the news but use it for connecting with my children and grandchildren, sharing a virtual cup of tea, keeping up with my friends, sharing poetry and uplifting posts of flowers and trees. I am enjoying you tube videos of story telling and seeing...

Day 1 of our imposed isolation in Spain, although in reality we have been self isolating and manically bleaching now for over a week. I am one of the at risk groups and have been aware since cases in Italy started to rise of the risks to my own health and my families. It was a strange feeling yesterday, empty streets, bars shut, supermarkets rammed with desperate shoppers who had left it late to shop. In the afternoon I arrived back from my last country walk to hear the Town Hall giving instructions by 'bando' the megaphone Town Crier system still used in our village. The reality of the situation and my gratitude to our new young Councillors bearing such a sombre responsibility struck me and I stood to listen with tears in my eyes.  The isolation is already strange, we are either laughing or crying, panicking or maintaining a strange calm. I am trying to keep calm, worry does not help and I need to support my children and their families. My grandson can not un...