As I walked out one late summer noon
were grapes: purple, small, succulent, lots hanging down, full of pips.
The final day I walked out again
higher this time, above the Costa Brava
past fennel heads higher than my own, coming soon to the end of the track
and another house
with a greenhouse
apparently allowed to run wild.
I sat for a while on a rock in the shade of a tree and thought about nothing very much except that now I am here, I am here, I am here. Sometimes just that seems extraordinary.
I had fascinating discussions with a great group of people. Thank you Isobel, Clare, Ros, Sara, Deni, Velta, Tracy, Ricardo, Michael, Lillian, Debbie, Carolina, Marr and, of course, Lee for inviting me again. It was a pleasure to meet (or reacquaint myself with) you again.