I’ll always hold dear the memory of two
days spent in Rota – that’s in Spain – during my
early twenties. My room at the Playa de
La Luz overlooked some body of water…
maybe the Atlantic; probably the Med.
Who knows? I never bothered to look it up.
Anyway, that first night I sat outside on
the balcony sipping iced whiskey and rum
from the minibar. As the sun sank lower
I became part of an artistic setting
fit for Van Gogh or Seurat. It was lovely.
Pinks and blues. Orange hues. Fluffy white clouds.
On the beach, families were gathered around.
A man strummed a guitar. People sang. Dogs howled.