This morning I walked through the empty, silent, Sunday,
Gibraltarian streets until I reached the Alameda botanical gardens which sat in
silence on my entering. Gibraltar was swathed in the swirling, low-lying mists that
I love. This soft cape hid the last of the lingering summer. The birds were at their
scuttlings & scratchings, grabbing what they could before the last greedy autumn
snatchings.
The aromas of wild mountain herbs, honeysuckle & dew-kissed
quenchingly green limes hanging indolently on pregnant branches ready for the picking
& the dropping of their aromatic fruits. The cacophony of southern birdsong
in the burnished & now bruised red, copper, gold & scarlet leaves, dancing
a Gibraltan jig in the merry breeze, all left me in Nirvana, where I was alone,
but never for one moment lonely.
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