Gran Canaria


Gran Canaria


I can't believe it– the ancient, solid lava under my feet, the air swirling softly from the sea, the jutting hills streaked with copper red resembling a scene from Mars...

I can't believe I'm on a bench near the breaks of the ocean writing this–breathing this. The spray from the scene mists up mystically only to disappear in a sprout-like mini-fountain.

This is home. I don't know for how long, but it doesn't matter. We are free to go or to stay as we like. A six month housing contract is the only written hold on us.

There is no rush here. The lone white butterfly reflects the sun in her wanderings from island flower to flower. Someone pedals by behind me. Sunday strollers on a Monday parade by with shoes matching sweatshirts or shorts.

The island has its own time and tempo. It is upbeat without feeling frenetic. Even the people running in place in an exercise class held on hardened sand run steadily but not in a hurry.

I stand up and continue my wandering.


Photo and Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

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