Spain

Island in Spain. With blue sea peeking through the trees below the house, the heat seemed bearable.

Such a different feel to beaches back home, here it felt like Peter might just be spotted fishing in the bay.

I loved the buildings, with their warm clay coloured stone. And the dusty fields, with trees that despite the ground had green leaves. And the shuttered narrow quiet streets that seemed to have no life, but if you walked slowly you could hear the sound of people, escaping the intense heat by shutting themselves up in their courtyards.

And at night..

Sitting on the still warm rock, in the dusk, I drew close to Him.

Second Summer

Two summers. But such a different summer is this second one I am in the middle of. Of course some things are the same, the beautiful heat that lingers long into the evening, raspberries that hint of velvet, splashes, pools and glasses of water, shades of green you could never count. But the surroundings....

Fountains that have seen more summers than the people that drink from them.

Roses that scent the walls they climb.

Churches that people walk into day after day, churches that speak of centuries and architecture and skill. And I wonder. Do people realise you can meet him anywhere, that he isn't confined to ancient walls. God of the ages though he may be.

And I want to drain the cup that he gives me, but I don't realise it will never empty. Because his water never stops flowing and I sit still in this second summer, and drink.