There’s more to life than the city. I also enjoy walking through mountains, villages, and I have a special fondness for old stone architecture. Catalunya has monasteries, churches, walls, roads, and prehistoric dolmens, all made of stone. I never tire of it. It’s a beautiful natural material.

This poem was inspired by a visit to the Cistercian monastery of Santes Creus en Poblet. I’ve been there several times and I always enjoy the silence. On this specific visit, however, something about the bars on the windows disturbed me.


theway the truth andthelight_pl


A window, barred.



Lace made of stone.



Rejection of the world.



A silent Order lives within.
Their daily walk is curled
around the cloister square.

dark domaine_pl


Don't bother knocking,
no one comes.
You are not welcome there.

Orchids in the Consulate

In Barcelona, at  any moment, in any neighborhood, you can be surprised by a gem of modernist architecture. The Casa Muleyafid,  designed by Josep Puig i Cadafalch in 1914, is one I pass every morning. The Consulate of Mexico is currently the lucky tenant of this whimsical structure. Not only do they have a great building, they have somebody who likes flowers. I know, because you can see a pot of tall, gracious orchids through one of windows.

Orchids in the Consulate

The orchids in the Consulate have grown on foreign soil. Carefree, you'll never see them spin, and neither do they toil.

I wonder if a diplomat from some greener distant place was homesick when she planted them? Or perhaps it was a case of protocol, as flowers are known to make amends in conflicts small and great.

Flowers would be my policy if I were head of state.