my tree

There is a tree along the goat track that stands out from the dozens that line the path. It sits on a slight elevation, its thick, twisted roots exposed, and the ground beneath hollowed out. I first noticed it a couple years ago, when a group of the old farmers had gathered there, to take in its shade, to smoke a Ducado or two, to rest. One of them had taken a broken terracotta tile and wedged it between two of the larger roots, cleverly creating a little seat for himself. On one particularly hot day, I decided to have a brief pause under the tree. The precious Boo delighted in my choice and reclined by my side. Mr. Beebs took yet another opportunity to have a splash in the irrigation ditch below. I just sat, looking out at the valley, to the mountains a few miles away, and listening to the birds, the farmer's spade hit the dirt. Since then, a short rest at the tree has become part of our routine, the five-minute pause a much-anticipated break in my day. Last year, when Big Jim was still looking for a job, these five minutes were often the only escape from my otherwise overscheduled, overworked days. Sometimes I would look out at the mountainside yet see nothing, my mind racing as it checked down the list of things I had to finish that day. But still I sat, the roots grounding and steadying me, as well as the tree. Thankfully, my daily pace is no longer so frenetic, so frantic. I can sit for ten, fifteen minutes with little worry that I am putting a work deadline in serious jeopardy. And so I sit. Because I can. I try to memorize every crevice on Maroma, following the tree line, the fire breaks downward. I look at the distant houses, perched on the mountaintop, wondering who lives there. I note that the grasses are quickly burning up under the summer sun, changing the color of the valley carpet from green to yellow. I focus on a young bird and try to follow its path as it swoops and soars in search of a tasty breakfast. And then the precious Boo gently nudges my knee and rests her head on my leg. Mr. Beebs has returned from his explorations and is seated on my left. I hadn't even noticed he was there. The p. Boo softly "woofs", tale swooshing, eyes smiling at me. "Who wants brekkies?" I ask. Both dogs jump up and begin their race back home. Quiet time is over. For today. hasta luego, mylifeinspain