Well this year in february i was in Asturias to visit
my sister, and i start to write at my book, even
im not sure where this will go. I found Asturias
a very peaceful place...i was able to ramble my
mind and find the words to begin this book....
Im gonna post here some parts from my book cos Asturias
ment more then some great shots and fun for me.
A SEA TALE (part 1)
A storm is gathering over the slate-grey sea.
The foam of the wavecrests punctuates the rough surface of the turbulent water and as the waves break with fury on the rocky shore, the spray is carried high by the might of the wind. A woman watches out towards the sea and her eyes mist over, reflecting the stormy sea. Her tears begin to flow down her cheeks as the first, heavy drops of rain begin to fall from leaden skies. She scans the horizon through thickening veils of falling sheets of rain, watching for signs of an approaching ship. But the darkening sky, the wrath of the elements buffeting the cliffs and rocky shores of the island where she stands give her no glimpse of what she yearns to see.
Another day has passed her by and still she waits in despair. Wet to the bone, the darkness enveloping her small world, she walks slowly toward the house perched high on the cliff top.
She can discern its dark mass through the driving rain and shuffling her feet on the gravel of the path she reaches the door. Sighing deeply she enters the dark house. Standing awhile in the gloom she listens to the sound the rain makes on the roof. As the wind whistles around the house buffeting the rain against the shutters she feels a frigid claw closing around her heart and again welcomes her old friend, loneliness, come to keep her company for another night.
She wipes the tear and rain-streaked face and makes her way to the lamp on the mantel of the fireplace where dead ashes greet her own icy coldness. In the flickering flamelight of the lamp she has just lit she looks at the bare room and the dark cheerless fireplace. She drags the wet shawl from her shoulders and runs her fingers through rain-soaked hair; wet, lustreless straw.
She stoops down and places a few twigs on the hearth, some small branches astride them and then she takes a flame from the lamp and with the rushlight sets fire to the wood. Soon a blaze begins to consume the dry kindling. She throws more fuel on the fire and watches the flames licking it, her eyes lost in the swirling, burning depths. Her mind wanders in the labyrinthine corridors of past memories. She listens to the crackling sound of the fire and the vast desert place of her heart is suddenly revivified by the onrushing torrential downpour of her recollections.
She remembers his face when he looked at her as he was leaving. His eyes were silver mirrors reflecting her own bitterest sorrows, yet at the same time they were sea caverns echoing the vastness and the occasional sunny calmness of the deep blue ocean that was calling him away from her.
“I shall return for you,” he had said, “I shall be back for you before you know it. And then my own true one, never again shall we be parted; this is to be my last voyage...” She had looked into his deep blue eyes while she caressed his sable locks and it was then that she saw the Sea looking out at her through the darkest depths of his eyes. The Sea, that as a rival met her gaze contemptuously and seemed to say: “He is mine, look at him, he is lying just to be rid of you. I, and only I, have his never-ending love, it is to me he always comes running. I have his soul in my possession and to you shall he nevermore return...”
A chill had coursed through her veins at that moment, a morbid presentiment, an ominous foreboding that presaged ill. She held onto him tightly, averting her gaze from his duplicitous eyes, trying to expunge from her consciousness the words of the Sea that they seemed to have uttered.
“Do not go! I implore you, stay my own one, for I shall not last until you return. Please, do not go...” She buried her flaxen head deep in his embrace and in the saltiness and wild sea heather she smelt there, she already knew his reply, well before he had articulated it. “Ah my love, my Caitlin, full well you know that I must go, for I have given my word, all is arranged, our ship, she awaits with sails unfurled... Before you know it dear heart, the eightmonth will be over and I shall have you in my arms even as I hold you now. Await me for I shall return to you even if I have to fight old Nick himself.” He had kissed her and clasped her tightly in his arms and then he was gone.
She looks deep into the flames and feels the warmth of the fire on her dress, watches the steam rise from the wet cloth.
An eightmonth, he had said. And now it was a year since they had parted and no word, no letter, no news had she from him during that time. The other women of the island waited also, and every time they met her, she could see in their eyes the same black sorrow that was in hers. They greeted her and passed her by, none mentioning the ship, none daring to guess her fate in some distant ocean. To talk of - nay, to even think of, the possibility of a shipwreck, would be to lose hope, to give up, to resign oneself to fate. That, the women who waited would not do, for life would then be unbearable. So they waited and spoke not of the ship and hoped.