I've been absent on this page lost in the mediterranean sea, swimming in waters so pristine that the fish swished my bare legs and caused a brief sense of euphoria that infused my being. I must mention that I am moving to Spain. I told H that on the plane home as we neared Ireland, as I spied the mountainous clouds that covered this small isle as if some graffiti artist went wild with shaving cream to cause calamity in the heavens. H looked at me with a tad of belief. He did. He never once raised his chaotic eyebrows and instead closed his Richard Ford novel and turned his head to listen. 

This is what I said to him. I said;

it is perfectly heaven to sleep with the terrace doors open so one can hear the clunk and glug of water on the beach below.

it is a dream to hear the chisel of plastic patio chairs being arranged on the promenade somewhere close to six am.

it is a joy to find a small tapas bar with amazing wine and eat calamari, potatoes and cod fritters doused in lemon juice, with tiny forks for hours on end.

it is nice to open up your body to the sun. to see grannies flaunt their breasts and grandads stake out the beach early in the morning so the grandkids can be right at the water's edge.

oh and to eat Dorado in a small restaurant with grilled vegetables and dawdle like two lost souls and look up above and see in the narrow street an old couple sit and drink wine and play a board game at eleven p.m. on a tiny patio and envy them.

mussels and good salad too H, I said. and that sea, the blueness of it stretched out like a big bandana before my eyes without a speck of dirt - no blemish only white sail boats and the chugging of engines and screaming seagulls and the swoop of swallows.

Bougainvillea seduces me and the smell of garlic and butter and my feet tucking themselves into the fine pebble of beach and sun tan oil and everyone meshed into eachother all for the same reason-the sun and the sea.

it is all that matters and the wispy green trees I do not know what to call them and fig trees and miles of sunflowers and I in the car talking like a fool. look - look - look sunflowers everywhere lighting up my sore and tired eyes. five euro a bunch back home and here growing like glorious weeds. Not to mention the fruit trees that we sped by and make me long to stop and pick.

nothing  i remember more than lying on the shore with my feet at the edge and the constant ebb of water cloaking them. eyes closed. nothing else. my mind blank for the first time in years. blank like a clean sheet in off the line, washed by the soft kind breeze from the sea. here it is soothes, a balm of sorts as the  language sings in the air, dances lightly through the tile and the white houses and the balconies where families sit, engaging, sharing, conversing.

sorry H I said. I am going back - not immediately but soon. someday H. He nods. His face is an affirmation - suddenly it has gone back, lost all of the year, glows with promise and blue sea and white sails and a new strength and says that what I say is possible. and so we arrive and bow our heads to the rain that greets us and our feet clad in sandals navigate the uneven muddied path that awaits us.