House
in Spain
My
parents had bought a house in Spain. It was an old-fashioned, light
blue building by the sea in a small fishing village.
My
father sat on the veranda, my mother planted flowers in the garden.
The mid-day sun burned hot. I was looking at the fish swimming by
the side of the pier. A few trouts went by. I followed them until
they disappeared in the glitter of the sun that reflected from the
surface.
I
walked back to the garden. Big blue butterflies fluttered in the air.
I had never seen such a variety. Their wings shone brightly in the
sun. I'd have followed them but I couldn't keep up with their pace,
as they crossed the railroad tracks.
Behind
the tracks there was a meadow full of grass and bushes. No one had
taken care of this field. The area was completely natural with no
human interference. The leaves were white and misty, fair and bright.
The flowers, too, were white, which made the atmosphere almost ethereal.
I had never been in Spain, so each plant gave me plenty of wonder
and amazement.
I
climbed up the hills. Beyond the hills I could see more fields and
country side. This was a beautiful scenery, where farmers cultivated
wheat and barley. The blue sky was spotted with white clouds. I was
happy to find out that there were still places as natural as this.
I moved very fast among the fields. Carefree and happy, I watched
how the wind formed waves in the slowly undulating fields of green
and grey wheat.
