Spanish oranges

It is sometimes useful to explore the wreakage of a former life. At first, as if cast adrift by our own inclinations, born out of whatever situation we tend to find ourselves in. A prevailing wind may easily send us off course for years. We may circumnavigate until reaching the point of beginning, and realizing our mistake, after getting our bearings, set off again in what now seems to be the right direction. As the world turns, the sun moves through the galaxy, the galaxy through the universe, and on, and on.

But I was just walking. Small bits of land taken in by the space between my feet. To feel the slightest breeze on my skin and be reminded of movement. Somewhat autonomous. And if I ended up somewhere, all the better.

I don’t believe that it rains in Spain, but then again, I’ve never been. They grow some great oranges, must get some rain, otherwise how so? Hermetically controlled greenhouses? How disillusioning that would be.

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