Homesick Waters

Zara Neale Hurston* - Santa Eulalia, Ibiza

I came across these words etched into a glass door on a little-used side entrance to the conference centre; easy to miss as the words appear and disappear according to the time of day and the angle of the sun's light.

My days here have been full-on. . . high on the stimulation side, with a rush of input and accompanying call to solitude for rest and processing in between. The programme comprises lectures, all-day workshops and fine, engaging company. . . forget about getting any (outward, at least) preparation done for the paper I'm preparing for Phoenix. Something's incubating, that much I know. I walk home contentedly from the conference venue each evening accompanied by the soft-edged moon (she'll be full this Friday), the welcome smell of warmed citrus and the island's stone. I'm good for nothing but sleep by the time I get back to my apartment.

This week's Tuesday Poem is just about ready to post (dedicated-if-slack co-curator that I am - and this is our birthday week ; ( ) and will follow this one. Meantime, I'm just wanting to put a hand out and say howdy. One thing I do do each morning is read your blogs while I have my breakfast. . . There are some rhythms one simply must uphold!  

* Zora Neale Hurston (January 7, 1891 – January 28, 1960) was an American folklorist, anthropologist, and author during the time of the Harlem Renaissance. Of Hurston's four novels and more than 50 published short stories, plays, and essays, she is best known for her 1937 novel Their Eyes Were Watching God. (Thank you, Google. . . ) 

Drain cover - Santa Eulalia sidewalk