writing for self-discovery

A breeze off the river sent chilly fingers through my thin shirt. I’d walked to the first stop of my morning stroll, the Charity Thrift Shop, bought a book, then hurried back to the house for another layer. Now amply fortified, I set out to find the one fabric shop in Ferragudo. At least, I hoped it had fabric.

As soon as I turned away from the river, the incline veered steeply up, and my pace slowed proportionally. 

A sewing machine on a sign suggested that might be the place I was looking for.

Stop #2.

I stepped into a hive of whirring needles and saw a note: Alterations, posted by the cash register. A young woman slid from behind her machine and hurried toward me. For the next few minutes, we earnestly and unintelligibly burbled at each other until she whipped out her phone and typed in, Please tell me what you want, and handed it to me. 

Do you have small pieces of fabric for sale? I typed back.

Come and speak to the manager at noon, she replied,

Thank you. I said, and left. Dead end.

I continued my uphill climb, craning my neck to gaze at the whitewashed walls of The Palms, streaching heavenward. Later, I googled and learned that The Palms – Ferragudo  is a private “closed condominium” providing peace, tranquility, and security to its privileged owners.

As I read the description, it was abundantly clear that my privilege was of some lesser variety than what was required to live there. I moved on.

The Palms was the summit. It was all downhill from there. And yet, there remained no shortage of charming gateways, stairways, and pavered roadways to delight the eye.

Destination #3

Club Nau on the beach. A sign at the roundabout directed me up another hill. This one offered views of a different nature.

And suddenly, I was at the top with sand, sea, and sky arrayed in splendor below.

Down the steps and left on the boardwalk brought me to the beachy vibe of Club Nau.

For a blissful hour, the ocean whispered secrets, sailboats, like giant white birds, skimmed the surface, and cranes circled, cawing and mewling overhead.

The panorama of peace played out while I sipped my blackberry SPARKLING CIDER! That’s the name I couldn’t remember in the video! Sparkling cider.

The slow meander home showed me the back side of the castle and weather-and water-sculpted rock formations.

A row of fisherman’s huts huddled against the cliff.

And I soaked it all in like a giant, starving sponge.

Getting old is worth it to have these magical days of falling wider, higher, and ever more deeply in love.