![]() One Sunday I went on a meandering walk through our neighborhood, with a goal (find an open hole-in-the-wall store that sells milk amongst all the stores that are closed on Sundays), but no specific destination in mind. As I wandered down the street searching for an open door, I stumbled upon a narrow pedestrian path that snaked its way through residential buildings to a more commercial (though still narrow) road on the other side. I entered through the low stone archway that marked the path’s entrance, passing through the shade it provided to the open air and the sun beyond. As I walked along, I took note of the cobblestones under my feet, the old stone buildings on my left and right, and the sun warming my back and glinting off the orange trees still heavy with fruit in the middle of winter.
Sometimes your Sunday in Spain could happen anywhere: reading and creating at home while the morning sun blankets your spot on the floor, a walk to the park, a good stick battle.
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AuthorMother, wife, previous and current Spain-dweller, excited to back here again. Archives
July 2015
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