wasteland

The local wasteland. One area that has escaped development, so far; and a reminder of the sweeping vista we once enjoyed from our balcony. We still have a sea view, but now it's just at the end of the street.

We call it "nature". It's where we take our mountains of used teabags, vegetable peelings and woody broccoli stems, so they can nourish the plants in a slow and tiny way. More relevant ecologically are the extensive deposits contributed by local pet lovers. They are like blown-up versions of what you see around rabbit warrens.

Poo dries quickly here, and the northern European practice of capturing the hot stools in plastic bags, unsatisfactory on so many counts, has not made much headway.

Accordingly it's possible to get an aggregated impression of the daily offload of the local dogs. What a mighty thing it would be to see the aggregated poo of the human population! Then we might understand more of how insouciantly we have multiplied. But for must of us it's wholly concealed; we make our personal contributions in the sanctum of the water closet, and flush them directly into Lethe.

Fennel, always in flower and available to sweeten breath and aid digestion.

Snails clustering on every stem that rises from the ground. Why they do this I don't know. I've seen snail pickers at work here in the early hours.

Maybe I should specify that we only sling paper teabags. I have very low confidence in the fancy plastic-looking bags that are claimed to be recyclable. On the heap at home they seem to last forever.

High plains

 

En un lugar de la Mancha, de cuyo nombre no quiero acordame . . .

Sahara dust; a grey afternoon, a white sunset. The sparrows roost uproariously. Martins perch fleetingly on the outermost leaves of the same tree, then dash off in loops over the field. Dusk deepens, the martins go, and they are instantly replaced by bats, who flutter in deranged paths like diagrams of the trickiest wingers.

Inside the van, it's the flies who are the supreme athletes, tranquilly settling on nose and nostril, scabbed graze and dirty glasses, sleeping bag and bone-dry towel. They are quite untouchable, and they have no interest at all in the restless breeze outside, so cannot be tricked out of the window.