Looking out my window this morning, I see fields of pure gold. Gold and dust. Summer is here.
The Andalucían winter landscape is foggy and mystical, shrouded in dark greens and cool greys. Come February, things start to change. The fields go electric green, by April interspersed by a plethora of multi-coloured blooms. By June comes high summer when the sun scorches the fields and dries all in its path.
I was worried that the summer months would be pure heat torture, the views transformed to a prolonged dead zone. But there is much life and subtle colour amongst the dried straws and as long as one hides from the midday heat like the locals, the temperature is not a problem (at least not here in Ronda at 800 meter over sea level). Many plants prosper in the heat. The dusty olive trees are filled with next year’s bounty. The wild romero (rosemary) tomíllo (thyme) and lavanda (lavender) display their loveliest flowers in this season. The cactus plants that hang off the cliffs sport tasty prickly pears and fig trees are bombarding the roads with ripe fruit.
As we walk up to town past the fields where the donkeys and horses are eating the remains after the golden hay harvest, I seem to hear the echo of Sting’s ‘Field’s of Gold’.
