Sharing a cliff's edge

May 12th, 2013

Sharing a cliff's edge

I remember the cobble roads, the fragrance of wild rosemary in the mountains,

the old, wrinkled olive trees, the climb to the top of a pile of boulders where we stared admirlingly at the Sierra Nevada. I remember clinging to rocks for dear life the day before my 24th birthday, as we descended along an unknown, treacherous path. I wanted to know we wouldn't die there, that a bright future lay ahead for us off of that mountain.

 

I remember the old moorish castles covering the hillside above Granada, the pink and purple fusia decorating the dusty city, the dry, warm air of Andalucia.

I remember sharing surtidos de tapas, and looking for a patch of grass along the river Guadalquivir to stretch our bodies on, and not finding it. I remember a wonderful mezze, shots of anis and shisha in a bar we had all to ourselves.

I remember walking hand in hand, squeezing, kissing slowly, loving each other, the best we could.