Spanish wild goat 

     Dear Fran,

     Pruna is a small municipality located in the Sierra Sur of Sevilla. It has a castle, already very damaged by the years, which is built on a large rock, which not long ago had some rough stairs made to be able to climb up to its walls. From its terrace you can see some beautiful landscapes of Grazalema, Ronda, Morón and especially the Peñón of Zaframagón, which is home to the largest colony of griffon vultures in Andalusia.

     It also has in its municipal area the highest level in the province: El Terril. As Godoy has told me, although this geological feature has always been there, it has not been until about a decade ago that people have decided to climb to its top. Globalization stuff, right?

     The Pruna City Council is doing its best to mark trails and prepare rest areas in the most picturesque places. This is the case of the Cascada, where yesterday afternoon, before dark, I spent a long time observing the wanderings of a mountain goat for more than an hour. Yes, a mountain goat that appeared silhouetted on the cliffs in front of where I was comfortably sitting. You already know that I usually carry small binoculars with me and thus I had the opportunity — despite the wind and the cloud of smoke that came from the imposing Sierra Bermeja fire — to contemplate a vulture, a Bonelli's eagle and a couple of kestrels.

  Fran, that goat surprised me a lot, but when I asked the employee of the petrol station what an animal like that was doing there, he told me that a few years ago they had released a few specimens around the castle and that it was not unusual to meet with some of them in the vicinity.

     Dear friend, I will tell you that discovering this small enclave has given me great satisfaction, even if it was by chance and lasted only one evening. I have yet to return one day and know more about its people and its streets.

     Y. a.

     Mary

 

      The illusion of pardon

     Dear Fran,

     I was looking forward to getting home to tell you what happened to me this morning in Carmona. But first I want to ask you if you have heard of 'the illusion of pardon'. A feeling by which the person sentenced to death waits until the last moment to be left alive.

     That happened to me for the first time fifty years ago... and this morning I felt it again. I tell you.

     I presented a painting (of which I do not have any photos to show you) to one of the Andalusian painting competitions and I dare say about Spain: the 'José Arpa'. After a while and seeing that they had already given the award to an excellent artist such as Ángel Alén and that I had not received any notification about my work, I assumed that they had not selected me. So, this morning I went to the palace where I delivered my Trabajos en la Ronda de la Alcazaba and when a very kind young woman came back from the warehouse she told me that the piece was not found there, that it was undoubtedly selected and she was surprised that I was to remove it. I explained to her what I have explained to you and she apologized while asking me where I came from; that if I came from far away. I reassured her by telling her that going to Carmona is always a pleasure for me and that I would take advantage of the rest of the morning walking through its streets.

     Fran, surely you wonder why I have told you about this illusion that the unfortunate people, who are going to die, have. Because three days ago I heard about that feeling and because when I came down the road to remove the paint I kept saying to myself: and if it is among the chosen ones and I have not received any information by mistake? 

     Y. a.

     Mary

 Man´s Search for Meaning (2)

The illusion of pardon  

It´s a feeling of consolation that those condemned to death develop before their execution. Wretched who conceive the hope that they will be pardoned at the last moment.

 Man´s Search for Meaning 

For Harry or Marion who haven't been born yet 

 

<< He could have developed logotherapy in America, thus fulfilling his life's mission, but he did not. He thus he arrived at Auschwitz. >>

 

 

     Beijar a terra  

 

Beijei a terra com os meus olhos, a minha

boca e os meus dedos

Enrolei-a a mim em círculos inumeráveis

E em contemplações intermináveis

Dissolvi-me nos seus segredos.

 

Sophia de Mello Breyner

 

      Works closed, not finished

     Dear Fran,

in your last email you asked me about the paintings that may, one day, be exhibited in Guillena.

 

Guillena´s postal cards

     Dear Fran,

     I have started to paint a series of pictures of a town called Guillena and its two small villages: Las Pajanosas and Torre de la Reina.