Bonifacio, Corsica
Long before dawn approaches the sky is filled with entertainment. The figures of the constellations have been etched into our minds from childhood on. Like guests in a royal palace we slowly approached the seated queen Cassiope. Was she upright or upside down this morning as she rotated about Polaris? Off to our starboard side the planet Venus seemed to be helping Iusticia (or Themis in Greece) by holding a set of scales, a balance to mete out justice for the world. At least so it seemed, for the quarter moon was dangling below her, its concave lens-like shape mimicking a fine brass tray upon which to place a weight. Or maybe she was swinging a pendulum for it certainly looked as if there was a connection between the morning star and the waning moon.
Even the sunrise was an animated cartoon. As any sun should do, it popped above the horizon like a rosy hemisphere. Soon bites were nibbled from the edge by voracious little clouds as if they were chiseling a building block for a medieval wall. In an instant the sculptor created a fiery ship a-sail upon the sea. Was it Jason and his Argonauts? With a blink of an eye, the crimson glow was our sun again, illuminating the clear blue sky and indigo sea. Cory's shearwaters appeared on cue slicing the tops of the waves.
The coast of Sardinia gave way and into the gap between it and Corsica we plunged. Bonifacio sat on the white layered cliffs like marzipan ornaments upon a cake, its roof-tops rising and falling with the contours of the land. Walls were not needed on its seaward side for no enemy would attempt to scale these friable walls. A river carved channel clove the cliffs establishing a perfect hidden harbor and creating the peninsula upon which the town had grown. Medieval fortifications controlled access then and now. No guards stood on the walls prepared to repel our advance but instead the gates stood open for all who cared to wander there through narrow streets or in and out of shops.
Turning left instead of right while climbing the steps toward town one was immediately swallowed by the maqui, a forest of fragrant shrubs. Crushed leaves released small quantities of the volatile oils hidden here but a rain storm would send a profusion of smells wafting about the land. It didn't rain however and it was left to our imaginations to intensify and meld the odors into one. Deep green junipers wore red berries if they were female or tiny yellow pollen laden flowers if they were male. Wormwood bore lacy greyish green foliage while the narrow leaves of rosemary were still another shade of green. In the distance the granite spine of the island was visible. Beneath our feet sand sparkled with tiny fragments of feldspar and quartz plucked from those hills and carried toward the sea, little by little until it lay buried in the deep. Welded together by calcium carbonate it rose again to create the cliffs of today. As our tread scuffed against the rocks these tiny grains were released again, ground a little smaller or rolled a little rounder to begin the cycle again.
The setting sun painted the sky behind the cliffs of Bonifacio. "Red sky at night, sailors delight!" A good omen for the cycle of tomorrow.
Long before dawn approaches the sky is filled with entertainment. The figures of the constellations have been etched into our minds from childhood on. Like guests in a royal palace we slowly approached the seated queen Cassiope. Was she upright or upside down this morning as she rotated about Polaris? Off to our starboard side the planet Venus seemed to be helping Iusticia (or Themis in Greece) by holding a set of scales, a balance to mete out justice for the world. At least so it seemed, for the quarter moon was dangling below her, its concave lens-like shape mimicking a fine brass tray upon which to place a weight. Or maybe she was swinging a pendulum for it certainly looked as if there was a connection between the morning star and the waning moon.
Even the sunrise was an animated cartoon. As any sun should do, it popped above the horizon like a rosy hemisphere. Soon bites were nibbled from the edge by voracious little clouds as if they were chiseling a building block for a medieval wall. In an instant the sculptor created a fiery ship a-sail upon the sea. Was it Jason and his Argonauts? With a blink of an eye, the crimson glow was our sun again, illuminating the clear blue sky and indigo sea. Cory's shearwaters appeared on cue slicing the tops of the waves.
The coast of Sardinia gave way and into the gap between it and Corsica we plunged. Bonifacio sat on the white layered cliffs like marzipan ornaments upon a cake, its roof-tops rising and falling with the contours of the land. Walls were not needed on its seaward side for no enemy would attempt to scale these friable walls. A river carved channel clove the cliffs establishing a perfect hidden harbor and creating the peninsula upon which the town had grown. Medieval fortifications controlled access then and now. No guards stood on the walls prepared to repel our advance but instead the gates stood open for all who cared to wander there through narrow streets or in and out of shops.
Turning left instead of right while climbing the steps toward town one was immediately swallowed by the maqui, a forest of fragrant shrubs. Crushed leaves released small quantities of the volatile oils hidden here but a rain storm would send a profusion of smells wafting about the land. It didn't rain however and it was left to our imaginations to intensify and meld the odors into one. Deep green junipers wore red berries if they were female or tiny yellow pollen laden flowers if they were male. Wormwood bore lacy greyish green foliage while the narrow leaves of rosemary were still another shade of green. In the distance the granite spine of the island was visible. Beneath our feet sand sparkled with tiny fragments of feldspar and quartz plucked from those hills and carried toward the sea, little by little until it lay buried in the deep. Welded together by calcium carbonate it rose again to create the cliffs of today. As our tread scuffed against the rocks these tiny grains were released again, ground a little smaller or rolled a little rounder to begin the cycle again.
The setting sun painted the sky behind the cliffs of Bonifacio. "Red sky at night, sailors delight!" A good omen for the cycle of tomorrow.
