|
Serra de Tramuntana
Most would say the sky is constantly changing
And so it does: soft white, gentian blue,
Tones of grey shading to granite black
With glints of quartz; but it is the rocks,
The mountain rocks, the bluffs and cliffs,
The spurs and ridges, the pastures
And pines, the all-so-solid, the fixed
Formations that change more than the sky,
Bleached by mists or glowing ember red
The mountain range looms closer every year,
Huddled round the citrus valley, reaching
Tapering arms down to the bay, hugging
Sóller like a mother, proud, bashful,
Encouraging, admonishing, keeping her
Own secrets, a mother able to turn away
As if to say: I have my own life too. |
