I've decided to write a bit about the place I'm living in, because my time here is quickly drawing to a close. The goal is a post per day with picture(s) and a bit of writing. I have been so incredibly blessed in this place, and I want to remember a few of the familiar things when my memories of them seem further away.
So, enjoy Mijas.
The tiles on the roof are full of moss, collecting dirt that blows down from the hill just behind our house. The white-washed walls are on the verge of needing to be repainted, but oh my, how friendly and familiar is this view, the the view of the back of the house. I have heard much life within these walls--joy, sorrow, confusion, and silliness. All of it has happened within the walls of this house we've named Bethel: House of God.
From the terrace I can hear the village. The church bells (both sets of them) chime every hour and half-hour, first one church, then the next several minutes later. They are unabashedly out of sync. Tonight there's a children's birthday party at the restaurant next door, and I can hear child-laughter and song intermingling with the call of near-dusk birdsong and the local dog population's nightly serenade. The village is a living thing. It has a heartbeat all its own.
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