I travelled about 1200 miles yesterday on my return from Villez Rubio to Egham, from the little mountain town to the little commuter town.

I still can’t get my head around how picturesque where I stayed was, being surrounded by mountains and huge arid expanses, punctuated occasionally by a swathe of pungent lavender. The silence also; I stayed in a small little Villa at the foot of a mountain, a mile or so from town and so there was little to no sound – just silence, but not an overbearing one, which was very agreeable and pleasant.

On Thursday we climbed up one of the local mountains to see the crumbled castle that is nestled amongst the debris at the peak, I think it was called El Castellon – which translates as ‘the big castle’…pretty original right? What struck me was that the higher we climbed the more the mountain took on a life of its own, there were thickets and blankets of pines creating sensuous bowers at the top of the peak, which I had no expectations of finding, but they helped lend themselves to a few lines

A fragile fort resides upon a lofty peak

Hidden among rocks for travellers to seek.

An Ozymandias crafted in southern Spain,

Skeletal and ruined, long crumbled in silent pain;

Seeking virility in vain during the scorching day

But finding solace only in the dusty, arid, clay.

A watch tower bears lone witness to

Feathered Pines, whose time passes through

in tandem to the perished fort.

If death begets life, who should have thought

A saving grace would be sweet lavender,

Pale jewel amongst forts that wither

and crumble to dust. A scent so faint

‘T is almost imperceptible to feel the weak taint

That colours the silence in so soft a lilt –

A silence that blankets the ruins no man built.