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Andalusia or Andalucía?

The autonomous region of Andalusia (Andalucía in Spanish) is in the southern part of Spain. It spans from Atlantic coast in the west to the sheltered coast of the Mediterranean Sea in the east and from Málaga's Costa del Sol to the borders of Castilla – La Mancha the famous flat lands and Don Quixote windmill country.  With an average of 300 plus days of sunshine a year the coastal area is an all year round destination. Not so in the inland provinces of Cordoba, Jaen and Sevilla which ha ve baking hot summers that can reach +40c and cold winters which can be 0c or less overnight. The Mezquita, Córdoba Andalusia is divided into eight provinces, each with a provincial city of the same name. Some of them are far more famous than others: Almería , Cádiz, Córdoba, Granada, Huelva, Jaén, Málaga and Sevilla. The three land-locked provinces are Córdoba, Jaé n and Sevilla, the rest are coastal. Each province and city is full of culture, history, traditions, fabulous monuments and cre...
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The River

It´s a while since I posted here. This is an old post I came across, a writing prompt I did a long time ago. I´ve been reading it again and again trying to understand that state of mind I was in when I wrote it. I cannot envision the turmoil. I so wish I had dated it. Just to know. Life moves on. I´m a tranquil stream right now.

Moorish, Wooden Waterwheel, Albendin


The River

Sometimes I rage, at others I'm calm and trickle, translucent or transparent, fine like ice. When I'm angry I destroy. Lives, land, nature, the wildlife I sustain. I erupt, spill and tear along not caring about the destruction or thinking about the aftermath. Unstoppable, churned up, dark. I carry along anyone and anything in my path then just dump it or them at will.

Eventually peace returns, a calmness that's inexplicable, unexplainable. An inner peace. A huge calm. Life returns to my shores, I quench the thirst of many. My thirst is slated too. I tumble and gurgle and burble along once again.

Until, the next storm. Each one a little less torrid, less violent. Am I controlling the storms, are they controlling me? How many, how much energy, emotion must be spent each and every time. I feel the rubble rolling, the drops gather into streams, the streams pour into me and if they are within me, part of  me they must come out. Explode. Break out of the restraints. Burst my banks and yet again run amuck, decimate. Harm.

I'm tired now. Drained. Ancient. I've wandered, meandered since the beginning. Never stayed on the path, always pushed the boundaries. Always. I find I like these moments of calm more and more. Is this what contentment is? A little down time. An inner peace. Can I stay like this, can this tranquil state remain. What needs to happen to attain, retain where I am right now.

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