EXCERPT FROM SARA’S JOURNALFebruary 2, 1999
Huerta Santa Maria
Near Galaroza
Santa Maria is empty. Javier has closed the big door. Chucha
sits alone in the dark, awaiting our return. We are her new, larger pack.
Only the pack is getting smaller again. We return from the airport. My
parents are on their way to London.
Santa Maria is dark and quiet, and filled now only with our
familiar books and traveling supplies. Chucha climbs the stairs with us and we sit,
huddled, the three of us and contemplate the next phase.
There’s an empty feeling after so much conversation and feedback
and enthusiasm. Even with weeks of Spanish Grippe we have managed to sleep in the arms of
comfort and simple pleasures with our visitors.
We’re going to miss my father at Santa Maria, starting the
fire in the early hours of the morning and waking us all with coffee strong enough to
clean one’s molars.
