Cloudy! Right, we had that covered.
This would be the morning to explore.
We, togged-out to trek and jaunty,
attacked adjacent scrubland
with no direction planned but down.

Cortijos, cattle, avocados
flanked us. Paths crossed and forked.
A moped chugged behind
then chugged ahead. Photos:
you beside a grove of lemons
and later on a low wall picking figs.
Potholes, runnels, dead-ends hardly hindered.
A white mule eyed us while we
hugged his hedge to let a truck edge by.

When we hit the coast road, all things shimmered.
Sol had slipped his cover, a molten blur
without a stitch of cloud. We bolted
through a gap of screaming traffic
then down a farm-track that brought us
to the beach. We’d clear forgotten,
and stumbled on the afters of San Juan.

The stillness startled. None ran
or sang or shouted. Some sat
beside their tents and stared at nothing.
Some lifted beer cans
like a chalice to their mouths.
Spits of fish sissed over fires of driftwood.
Two men rested on a car boot
and spoke in whispers.

We, sensing our intrusion, padded past
but no one noticed. None greeted,
turned their backs or scowled.
Were they spent from all night revels
and, faced with satisfied desire,
left mute? Or had they chased a fancy
fashioned for them and now half-sensed
it wasn’t what they wished?

The beach traversed, the river valley beckoned
but, infected, we clambered up a clearing,
wiped the sand off and, short-cut decided,
marked our quest complete.