Alive!

The primaeval wind leaves its mystical mark in ever-flowing ripples on the golden sand, broken only periodically by the dinner-plate sized hoof-prints of a wandering camel - or my little red boots.

Whether I am crouched on the firm packed sand, gathering rose-pink and slate-blue pebbles, smooth-as-silk, to decorate as gifts for our new, Berber Arab friends, or whirling and dancing down to the water’s edge to tempt the wild ocean to reach out just one more inch and cover my toes, or just to watch the evening sun slide, red-gold down behind the sea, that warm, Saharan wind is whipping through my hair, soft and sticky on my exualtant face! Is it possible to feel more truly Alive?! 

And then my hand is once more in Lorenzo’s and he is steadying me as I perch on a rickety rock to peep over the old, stone wall to spy on our nearest neighbours - a sombre clan of six one-humped camels and a gentle-eyed donkey as they partake of their evening meal, and I know that either I am more alive than I have ever been, or that I did in fact die last winter and that this is Heaven. Or at the very least, the inside of an Advent calender. And you know what? Just for now I don’t mind either way. Because if this place has camels and Lorenzo then there’s no-where in the world that I could be more happy..!