The Scissors and the Apple

So we went to Granada, just in time for the Day of Crosses which also coincides with Spain's version of Mother's day. I didn't know about the latter until my aunt reminded me as I was on my way to my mother's house. I got three bouquets, one for Mum and one for each of her sisters; they are the affiliated matriarchs, though the eldest, Senti, never married or had kids. Still she presides over most things and looks so like my late grandmother, everyone now calls her 'Abuela' - granny. She questions, swears, spoils the children and guides on all matters of protocol. The youngest, my twinkling-eyed aunt Fatima, grins, fills every table and every glass with something delicious, and won't stop until her guests are unable to move. My mother sits, smiles and tries to stop the family swearing and cussing.

( Politics )

( The City )

( The Day of Crosses )

Behind it all the mountains shine, wild and silent, still covered with snow in the sunset. Swallows hunt between the rooftops and people carry on eating and drinking ...then it happens, barely perceived except by the occasional ghost above Granada; night falls and the scissors gently cut right into the apple.