The Affront

Day 72

Tuesday

The sound of my alarm certainly does not motivate me to get out of bed, but neither does the sound of rain. Especially a thunderstorm at 6am. Why do I want to fight my toothbrush, my bed hair, my wardrobe, and the weather? I really don’t. But I get up anyways and trudge out the door, zipped up tight, walking fast. By the time I reach the train station the rain has subsided and I had the rare opportunity to see a thunderstorm passing onward while another storm grumbled from behind, flanking the dark clouds from the far right. Delightful, the changing of the guards. Not daring to disappoint, the next round is just as nasty as the last, but thankfully I’m watching the drops wisp off the windows of the high speed train, only able to enjoy its drenching upon dis-embarkment. Álora is a mystical pueblo. It is in the mountains so it is either very cold or very hot. The bizarre location is boasts in the mountains, yet near the sea gives it variable temperatures. When the rain stopped an odd fog rose from the ground, almost like a hovering cloud of humidity. It made me wonder if the clouds were too tired to rise any higher, content to pool around the tops of mountains or if the mountains pushed out such proud chests to pierce the puffs of rippling white. Didn’t matter which really, the view stopped the reel of negativity going off in your mind about wet shoes, wet pants, wet jacket and a long day of work ahead. But then again, it would be my last day of work. Tomorrow morning I’d fly home 

Soak me through and through Málaga, but you can’t hold on to me.