By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
I'm having this dream again. I'm walking around in a space destined to the nature, obviously not mine. I intend to recognise it and pretend to be part of it and even by taking this role seriously I still don't fit in. I know I must remember the last time the grass brushed the sole of my feet, but the effort leaves my brain clueless, and here I am, facing the ashes of what once have been the most breath taking woods in the western side of Spain. The summer burned too much this year and the fire deepens in my heart while I'm witnessing the power of nature to overcome and silently make things seem natural again. While taking pictures in the woods I saw small fires here and there and as I was going upper on the hills I could see the smoke coming from many places around us. In some areas the heat would reach such a level that you may have wished to be in hell instead and the dusty air would make you cry even if you weren't a particularly emotional being. It was like the nature would demand to be cried for. A small hoard of wild horses was caught in the fire and I felt trapped as well in the very moment I have laid my eyes on them. An incredible amount of differently shaped bones were sitting still, as if they've never been in a motion of any kind. I find it oddly interesting how time manages to create in a very large amount and wipe in a significantly smaller one. Saplings that may have grown for thirty years into gorgeous trees are being disbanded in a few hours. Time has the ability to draw fine lines offering the possibility to correct or simply adjust in any case. Time is an unsatisfied painter who'd destroy what was done, even if initially he'd sat beliefs in the masterpiece that has now been transformed into ashes by its own burning flame of passion. And who is there to blame? Not a single soul would have it on account. The authorities would say that the fire was on by natural causes, global warming and so on, but the locals had it clear that it was all set out of political interest. All I know is that I was caught in the fire and got out alive and even though it's been three years since, I still keep a vivid image of that landscape.. helicopters in the air dropping water from the buckets and desperate people trying to sort things out on the land. I know I felt the grass under my feet that night. It was right before I entered in my house after so many hours of unfortunate disaster. I took my shoes off, being afraid one day I won't be able to feel that anymore, and walked from the car to the building enjoying every millimetre of nature I would find on the way. That night I dreamed of a wild white horse racing through the blooming trees, looking backwards as if being afraid to be caught by something.. and now I know that something must've caught it in the end but just because I enjoy admiring his beautifully floating mane in the wind, I simply refuse to dream the inevitably real and ruthless end of a blissful sunny day of July.