April 1, 2012
Day 10:
On a grassy green hill in the Sierra Nevadas in Capileira, Spain. Snow on the peaks of the mountains, where I am, the warm sun and a cool breeze. My curls brushing my cheeks and my dirty boots pointed down hill. The bells around the goats necks above me play music as they climb. The church bells chime along. A dog in a distant meadow yips for his family to come home. The horse had been frozen in my gaze. The goats are climbing higher, their song is getting softer. Birds chirp quietly. I hear distant music coming from the town down below me. The sun feels like a warm blanket against my left side. A little fly buzzes by. A woman laughs from a house somewhere down the hill and it echoes up to the goats and I. The red ribbon in my journal is blowing across the page. I feel … like I’m exactly where I should be.
I think he would love it here. Laying by my side in the grass. Hands behind his head, eyes shut, calm and happy.
The goats have wandered off. Their songs are gone. But the breeze is still blowing and the music from town is still playing. It’s Sunday and the locals will surely still be congregating in the cobble stone streets with their church clothes on, and olive branches in hand. My peaceful tattoo along my slender left wrist throbs with familiarity. Perhaps my outer layer feels comfort here, too.
Samantha Harmon 