A year. Twelve months. Fifty two weeks. Three hundred and sixty five days. The first of them in August, just; sweaty, sweltering disorientation. Teeth clenched, eyes wide, ready.
September was a month of early mornings and confounding application forms. Religious processions and kind hearted bureaucrats. And baptism of fire in that most frightening of places. A classroom of children.
October brought reunion and a new beginning. Departures, grave-digging and grief. A weekend in oft-criticised Tangier. We loved it, especially the cake.
I was surprised to make it through the month of November, what with all the bloodsuckers. Back to our beloved Granada to clink glasses.
December was a lesson; when it rains in Spain it doesn’t mess around. Oh, and try not to be up a mountain when it happens. More blood loss and a snowy Christmas.
After all the mosquitoes, I got my first look at the Mezquita in January. Settling in to the apartment, the noise and the confusion.
February brought yet more bereavement. On the bright side we got to see Tarifa as it stretched and shook the winter sleep off. We went for walks and I became a brutal murderer.
I had never voluntarily visited a golf club, till March. Hopefully that’s it. A month of celebration and…more celebration.
April was the cruellest month; well, the wind was cruel. K was beautiful and Morocco was amazing. And also a bit shitty.
A few more threads woven in May. Back to Granada for some duende and the odd alegria. More celebrations – two of them. The beginning of life and the years blingiest rooftop wedding.
June was an outdoor month. Memories blowing up on the beach like sand. Birds presenting themselves like ominous little messengers. Camels winking at K and laughing at me.
July and August go together here. The little town that the Christians won back from the Moors gets invaded all over again. My first free summer for twenty odd years. I ran and swam. I itched. I perspired. I just didn’t sleep. Now it’s nearly September. There you have it. Three hundred and sixty five photographs. Three hundred and sixty five words. Fifty two sentences. Twelve paragraphs. A story.