EARLY MORNING NIGHTINGALE

As we have been speaking of nightingales recently, or more correctly using their song as the mani theme i a poem I thought I wuld send this little bit fom a trip to Andalusia Spain.

Algeciras Andalusia S.Spain. "Early one morning" 

 

Early one morning before sunrise we drove out to the north east of Algeciras and turned off west after passing through Los Barrios, crossing the Pamones river bridge we found ourselves on the most bumpy road we had ever seen, it resembled the surfauce of the sea in waves; this was the way Wellington marched to the Battle of Barossa, it must have been difficult dragging canons on a road that was far worse than this, but I suppose they were used to such in 1811. The car seemed at times to go diagonally as if it really were at sea. We stopped where the cork woods made us feel that here could be an interesting rock, or possibly we might find some with paintings from the bronze age which was the purpose of our holiday.

   

We walked on a little path beside great boulders of whitish stone, ivy climbing all over them, above us were the cork trees and pines of southern climes. Just then at 8 am. as the pale yellow and pink sun rose over the straights making Gibraltar a hump-backed silhouette, the light gradually tinted the cork trees and where the bark had already been peeled off revealing the most vivid orange colour. A woodpecker hammered now and then and unexpectedly the unbelievable poetry of a nightingale filled the air in the sound-box of the little copse, a chaffinch and a robin made the background orchestration sporadically. The nightingale sang and we listened. 

 

Sitting in the cool of morning a haze of sunlight slowly rising to a crescendo, along with the magic notes of the nightingale was a romantic start to the day of cave hunting. A lizard thought he was invisible in a rock crevice. No we found no paintings here, a  group of inquisitive cows came shuffling over the hill to see what we were doing there and made quiet remarks about us before slowly taking a bite of grass here and there, returning to the greener patches. A buzzard hovered a moment then glided on to find a thermal uplift, insects buzzed in the yellow flowering gorse bushes. Now for the Tajos de las Figuras we thought and drove on.

C. M. Ann Waddicor. Norge. 

We use a bird, its song, it presence, as the motif in a poem, or piece of prose. What other things are the instigators of writing, what most inspires you, your views and comments :-