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Where to Stay in Spain - Eco-friendly Casa Valle de Oro B&B

For peace and quiet, wonderful views and pure relaxation, with option to go exploring in Andalucia´s stunning interior, there are few better bases than Casa Valle de Oro.  Located in the north of Malaga province near the town of Villanueva de Algaidas and very close to the border with Cordoba and its lovely lake town Iznajar and easy access to Granada and Cordoba cities.  Casa Valle de Oro, which in Spanish means Valley of Gold or Golden Valley nestles in a shallow vale of olive trees from which is produced liquid gold or extra virgen olive oil, Casa Valle de Oro´s oil, as the ethos of the house, is ecological. From the terrace, which overlooks the swimming pool and down the valley, there are golden sunsets, two very different  reasons for one good name for the lovely Casa Valle de Oro B&B.  There are also two yurts, Marrakesh and Oriental, between the olive trees which provide lovely, dappled shade in the summer, with a path to their own shower room and a trickling stream to add t

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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