Satisfaction, Part 2 0f 4

A Spanish Farmer Goes to Fetch Water The limestone, thought Gonzalo, was a sponge. So soft, the raindrops pocked it. It absorbed it all, and slowly bled it back. He looked along the path, to where the outcrop rose out of the greens and browns of fecund earth, its face all cracked and fissured. Morning sun lay on the soil, like a considerate young lover. But the limestone prominence cast cool foreboding shadows on the land, a cloak devoid of color. To his left, Gonzalo saw Ramon, the blind white mule, flicking his ears. A carrot was expected. Below, Gonzalo's "parcel" drank the sun, the lion-colored corn close to mature. His barn was bursting. Almonds, olives, pulses, pomegranates, figs. "Thank you, Fuente," slipped from his lips, unbidden. Off he set, his wooden bucket swinging, for the crag. He loved the ritual of his morning trip.