Usually my morning walk
is a time to put my thoughts in order for the day’s writing. I drag my
wandering mind away from last night’s gossip, or what I dreamed about, or the
shopping list, and deliberately tell myself, “Right – let’s sort out this bit of dialogue,” or, “How
would a twelve-year-old boy react in that situation?” The mere act of putting
one foot in front of the other seems to untangle knots.
The eight-forty bus waits outside the ruined bull-ring.
The old house still stands stubbornly by the huge hump in the road that its owner’s refusal to move forced on the road-builders.
But for the past few
days it has been impossible to think about anything other than the forest fire.
On Monday morning there was a towering cumulus of smoke obscuring Mount Teide.
On Tuesday one couldn’t breathe without inhaling specks of burning forest, and we
learned that the beautiful Barranco del Infierno had succumbed.
By Wednesday we
knew the inhabitants of Villaflor had been evacuated, the volunteer firemen
were battling the blaze on several fronts, and hydroplanes flew over our home
at regular intervals, collecting water from the sea to drop on the flames.
The fire is reported to be under control now, but this morning the planes were still flying – I saw both of them and took photos. You can just see it if you look really hard. It was too hot to be wearing an anorak!
Thanks as ever for your meaningful words.
ReplyDeleteThanks Maurice - looks like you're the only one who read them!
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