POSTCARD FROM COMILLAS

(Comyass) Northern Spain

The heady scent

of mimosa perfumes

the ascending breeze.

Blown tulip petals

drift softly to earth.

Below, overnight rain

steams gently on

the carmine tiles of

medieval houses

huddling together

in narrow streets,

as the early morning

sun gains strength

and smiles kindly

on Comillas.

Nearby a drowsing dog,

rudely awakened,

chastises an infant

wailing for its feed.

On the hill, the

now deserted

university gazes

with empty eyes

on the little town,

the sea, and the

distant, snow-capped

Peaks of Europe,

fiery-streaked in

the light of dawn.

Wisps of smoke

scribble softly on a

blue parchment sky.

A rare yellow-beaked

chough circles in the

sparkling air, seeking

delicacies for its

demanding young.

A stooped, old man

hobbles on cobbles,

bearing home

new-baked bread.

A mother loudly

prompts a child

to rise~ as I,

from my wide-flung

window, embrace

the new-born day.