by Liliana Nogueira-Pache
Comienzo a sosegarme. Las risas de las gaviotas ya no se entremezclan con el griterío de los chavales ni con las voces de los muchos que ahora me visitan. Septiembre también se está yendo y el otoño me abraza. Me dejo hacer.
There were so many others… Even the Normans came around here, and they were really good seamen. And if anybody doubts that they should come and see my dornas.[1] There are still a few around. The heavy showers and high winds swirl around me more, and the birds hide. I don’t mind the rain, but it saddens me not to hear them, the blackbirds, the jackdaws… I enjoy daydreaming, accompanied by autumn.
I know, I know myself, I can be hard, and it is not always easy to be with me. Among the dunes everything is more complicated, but what with everything else I have my stalwarts … The crowberry which play seductively with their pearls, and more so at dawn when they are filled with multi-coloured tears. The sea rocket, which is always a worry with its delicate flowers, but how strong she is.
October makes me feel sentimental, and there are still two days to go. This weekend the moon enters Aries and the month begins. I feel the aroma of the bay trees, as few as there may be, and I’m sure that even though my sisters say I’m exaggerating, that unless the bay leaf is in Señora Manuela’s cookpot when she is cooking conger eels, then there is no scent… What do they know, if they only have their pines and gorse! I don’t want to appear presumptuous, and although there are only a few, I have willows, oaks, and elders as my companions.
I can still remember the cork oaks and Mediterranean oaks… Before the fires…
Now that the boats have stopped coming I can see how the spider crabs and velvet swimming crabs now wander about without being startled so often, to say nothing of the octopuses who can stop hiding, crouched in the rocks, who even wave their tentacles by daylight. I’ve warned them, that if they want to hunt, then hunt, but although the tourists and summer visitors have gone, there are still people around and that Señora Manuela doesn’t only cook eels, that Señor Palmiro, her husband, really enjoys a plate of octopus with potatoes. Potatoes that he has grown himself, something else that I can provide.
Yesterday, with the sea mist, you could hear the foghorns of the ships, like echoes of another time and the flashes of the lighthouse seem like the firing of cannons, like when Drake and other pirates sailed around my shores. What a lot of stories to tell. So many memories and recollections …
How fresh the atmosphere is now that the ferns are damp and trap the salt air, gifting me that acrid fragrance… The sea is cold, colder than usual, some currents must have intermingled with mine. The goose barnacles on the cliffs will be happy as there is a heavy swell today and, as always, the small ones will play among the waves.
October has settled in, setting up camp as if he had never been here before. I listen to the silence and however, I know that within me, life continues, but peacefully, without the hustle and bustle of spring… I can think and doze a while... Recharge to prepare for March and April, months that are never quiet… I can hear the waves crashing against the cliffs, sighs of the seas dragging itself across my solitary shores… Murmuring of eucalyptus, or is it the willows whispering near the spring?... No, it can’t be, as there are no more words left among their branches.
A tickling comes from inside… The snakes and spiders are settling down for their siesta. They will dream new adventures and return, like the ladybirds, to hide among the heather when the winter is over.
The seabirds, my summer visitors, are preparing to leave... Up until last week it had been an autumn without excitement, but it is almost Magosto, the chestnut festival, and a time for leaving. My friends are starting their journey to warmer climes. The jackdaws with their brilliant, dark, shiny plumage, the lively wrynecks, always knocking on trees, the playful stonechats … During the mornings, while they stayed with me, they dazzled me with the different voices and I know that the gulls and cormorants felt jealous because I liked their trilling.
On quiet nights I cloak myself, collar turned to the cold night air. Now the sea fog closes in almost every day, impregnating everything. The sun is feeling lazy… It gets up late and settles early… But I like these days …I enjoy the warm colours… The ochre and greenish hues snuggling up between the burgundy and mauves …
And although I miss the dolphins, my arroaces, who don’t call in as often as in summer, autumn feels good… The rains dress me in my finest… The north winds envelop me in their dance … The Atlantic lovingly embraces me… In myself all is peace and calm.
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| Galician Isles National Park |
Comienzo a sosegarme. Las risas de las gaviotas ya no se entremezclan con el griterío de los chavales ni con las voces de los muchos que ahora me visitan. Septiembre también se está yendo y el otoño me abraza. Me dejo hacer.
Antes, mucho más allá en el tiempo, cuando aun no venía nadie más que los barcos de los conserveros de Bueu a llevarse el pulpo que pescaban los marineros, los míos. Mis marineros, mis pulpos, y mis mejillones también…
O más antes, cuando se olvidaron de mí y adormecida entre mis dunas escuchaba las voces roncas que escapaban del Buraco do Inferno. Dejándome ir, hipnotizada con el vuelo loco de los alcatraces. Sintiendo entre mis aguas al negro cormorán con su extraño moño y cara de pocos amigos. Había tantas… Hasta las garzas me visitaban, acompañándome a la anochecida. Mientras los rojos jirones de luz se iban alejando en el océano.
Tuve tantos otros…. Hasta normandos, por aquí vinieron, buenos navegantes sí que eran. Y si alguien lo pone en duda que venga y vea mis dornas, que alguna queda. Los chubascos y los vientos se quedan conmigo mucho más y los pájaros se esconden. No me importa la lluvia, pero me entristece no poder escucharles, a los mirlos, a las grajillas… Me gusta pajarear cuando el otoño me hace compañía.
Ya sé, me conozco, tengo mis extremos y no siempre es fácil estar conmigo. En las dunas todo es más complicado, con todo y con eso tengo mis incondicionales… Las camariñas, que coquetean con sus perlas, y más en las alboradas cuando se llenan de lágrimas multicolores. La oruga marítima, que siempre me preocupaba, por sus florecillas tan delicadas y, sin embargo, qué fuerte es.
Octubre me pone sentimental, y eso que aun faltan dos días. Este fin de semana la luna cae en Aries y el mes comienza. Siento el aroma del laurel, por pocos que haya, y segura estoy que alguna de mis otras hermanas dicen que exagero, que el laurel si no está en la pota de la señora Manuela cociendo congrio, no huele… ¡Qué sabrán ellas, con solo pinos y tojos! No quiero presumir, pero, por pocos que sean, tengo hasta sauces, robles y saúcos entre mis compañeros.
Todavía recuerdo los alcornoques y los rebollos… Antes de los incendios…
Ahora que los barcos ya no vienen, veo como las centollas y las nécoras se pasean sin tanto sobresalto, por no decir nada de los pulpos que dejan de estar agazapados en las rocas, incluso tentaculean a la luz del día. Ya les he avisado, que miren, que pescar pescan, aunque no haya ni veraneantes ni turistas, que gente aun queda, y la señora Manuela no solo cuece congrios, que al señor Palmiro, su marido, bien que le gusta el pulpo con patatas. Patatas de su cosecha, que también a eso me presto.
Ayer con la niebla, se oían las sirenas de los barcos, como ecos de otros tiempos y los destellos del faro parecían ráfagas de cañones, como cuando Drake y otros corsarios anduvieron por mis orillas. Cuántas historias por contar. Tantas memorias y recuerdos…
En el verano cuando están con las excursiones del parque, me gusta escucharles, a los guías. No lo hacen mal, la verdad, pero claro, ¿cómo iban a saber todas esas cosas de mi vida cuando me ocupé muy bien de que todo se quedara entre nosotras? Y eso que mis hermanas no tuvieron un pasado tan turbulento, pero accedieron. Tal vez algún día me decida y deje saber un poco más… Pero no me siento preparada para abrir esas cajas todavía.
Qué bien se respira ahora que los helechos están húmedos y atrapan el salitre regalándome este aroma tan acre… El mar está frío, más frío que de costumbre, alguna corriente se habrá entrometido entre las mías. Por los acantilados andarán contentos los percebes además hoy hay oleaje y, como siempre, los más pequeños juguetearán con las olas.
Octubre ya se ha instalado, acampa en mí como si nunca antes hubiera estado. Escucho el silencio y sin embargo, sé que muy dentro de mí la vida sigue, con tranquilidad, sin el ajetreo de la primavera… Puedo pensar y adormilarme un poco… Recuperar energías para lidiar con marzo y abril que no paran quietos… Oigo a las olas rompiendo en los acantilados, suspiros de mar arrastrándose en mis orillas solitarias…Murmullos de eucaliptos o ¿son los sauces susurrando cerca de la fuente? … No, no serán, ya no les quedan palabras entre sus ramas.
Un cosquilleo me lleva hacia dentro…Las culebrillas y las arañas van echarse la siesta. Soñarán nuevas aventuras y volverán, como las maruxiñas, a esconderse entre los brezos cuando pase el invierno.
Las aves marinas, mis huéspedes veraniegos, comienzan su despedida… Hasta la semana pasada, había sido un otoño sin aspavientos pero ya casi estamos de Magosto y es tiempo de despedidas. Mis amigas comienzan viaje a tierras más cálidas. Las grajillas de plumaje oscuro y brillante, los vivarachos torcecuellos, persistentes picadores de árboles, las tarabillas juguetonas…En las mañanas, mientras se quedaban conmigo, me encandilaban con sus charlas diferentes y sé que las gaviotas y también los cormoranes se sentían celosos porque me gustan estos trinos…
En las noches serenas me arropo con el embozo del relente… Ya casi cada día se acercan las nieblas, impregnándolo todo. El sol está perezoso…Se levanta tarde y se acuesta temprano… Pero me agradan estos días….Disfruto de los colores cálidos… Los ocres y verdosos arrebujándose entre los burdeos y los malvas…
Y aunque echo de menos a los delfines y a los arroaces, no me llaman tanto como en verano, el otoño me va bien… Las lluvias me visten de gala… El Norte me enreda en sus danzas… El Atlántico lleno de amor me abraza…Y dentro de mí todo es sosiego y calma.
Ganadora del Concurso de relatos ‘O Outono nas Illas’ de la Consellería de Medio Ambiente de La Xunta de Galicia
The Autumn and Me
I feel the calm returning. The laughter of the seagulls is no longer mixed with the wild cries of the young kids nor the voices of all those who come to visit me nowadays. September is coming to an end and autumn wraps me in his arms, and I let myself go.
Before, long, long ago, when the only people I saw were the boats from the canneries in Bueu who came looking for the octopus that the fishermen caught, my fishermen. My fishermen, my octopuses, and my mussels too…
Or even before that, when they forgot about me and I dozed among my dunes and listened to the growling voices escaping from the Devil’s Hole. In a reverie, hypnotised by the crazy, wheeling flight of the gannets. Feeling the black cormorant, with its odd crest and grumpy face, in my shallows. There used to be so many…. Even the herons came to visit, sitting with me as dusk fell, as the shards of red light faded into the ocean.
There were so many others… Even the Normans came around here, and they were really good seamen. And if anybody doubts that they should come and see my dornas.[1] There are still a few around. The heavy showers and high winds swirl around me more, and the birds hide. I don’t mind the rain, but it saddens me not to hear them, the blackbirds, the jackdaws… I enjoy daydreaming, accompanied by autumn.
I know, I know myself, I can be hard, and it is not always easy to be with me. Among the dunes everything is more complicated, but what with everything else I have my stalwarts … The crowberry which play seductively with their pearls, and more so at dawn when they are filled with multi-coloured tears. The sea rocket, which is always a worry with its delicate flowers, but how strong she is.
October makes me feel sentimental, and there are still two days to go. This weekend the moon enters Aries and the month begins. I feel the aroma of the bay trees, as few as there may be, and I’m sure that even though my sisters say I’m exaggerating, that unless the bay leaf is in Señora Manuela’s cookpot when she is cooking conger eels, then there is no scent… What do they know, if they only have their pines and gorse! I don’t want to appear presumptuous, and although there are only a few, I have willows, oaks, and elders as my companions.
I can still remember the cork oaks and Mediterranean oaks… Before the fires…
Now that the boats have stopped coming I can see how the spider crabs and velvet swimming crabs now wander about without being startled so often, to say nothing of the octopuses who can stop hiding, crouched in the rocks, who even wave their tentacles by daylight. I’ve warned them, that if they want to hunt, then hunt, but although the tourists and summer visitors have gone, there are still people around and that Señora Manuela doesn’t only cook eels, that Señor Palmiro, her husband, really enjoys a plate of octopus with potatoes. Potatoes that he has grown himself, something else that I can provide.
Yesterday, with the sea mist, you could hear the foghorns of the ships, like echoes of another time and the flashes of the lighthouse seem like the firing of cannons, like when Drake and other pirates sailed around my shores. What a lot of stories to tell. So many memories and recollections …
In summer when they are running the excursions in the park I like to listen to the guides. Truth be told, they don’t do a bad job, but how are they going to know all those events in my life when I made quite sure everything would stay under wraps, between us. And even though my sisters haven’t had such a turbulent life as I have, they agreed. Maybe one day I’ll decide to let everybody know a little more… but I don’t feel ready to open that particular Davy Jones’ locker just yet.
How fresh the atmosphere is now that the ferns are damp and trap the salt air, gifting me that acrid fragrance… The sea is cold, colder than usual, some currents must have intermingled with mine. The goose barnacles on the cliffs will be happy as there is a heavy swell today and, as always, the small ones will play among the waves.
October has settled in, setting up camp as if he had never been here before. I listen to the silence and however, I know that within me, life continues, but peacefully, without the hustle and bustle of spring… I can think and doze a while... Recharge to prepare for March and April, months that are never quiet… I can hear the waves crashing against the cliffs, sighs of the seas dragging itself across my solitary shores… Murmuring of eucalyptus, or is it the willows whispering near the spring?... No, it can’t be, as there are no more words left among their branches.
A tickling comes from inside… The snakes and spiders are settling down for their siesta. They will dream new adventures and return, like the ladybirds, to hide among the heather when the winter is over.
The seabirds, my summer visitors, are preparing to leave... Up until last week it had been an autumn without excitement, but it is almost Magosto, the chestnut festival, and a time for leaving. My friends are starting their journey to warmer climes. The jackdaws with their brilliant, dark, shiny plumage, the lively wrynecks, always knocking on trees, the playful stonechats … During the mornings, while they stayed with me, they dazzled me with the different voices and I know that the gulls and cormorants felt jealous because I liked their trilling.
On quiet nights I cloak myself, collar turned to the cold night air. Now the sea fog closes in almost every day, impregnating everything. The sun is feeling lazy… It gets up late and settles early… But I like these days …I enjoy the warm colours… The ochre and greenish hues snuggling up between the burgundy and mauves …
And although I miss the dolphins, my arroaces, who don’t call in as often as in summer, autumn feels good… The rains dress me in my finest… The north winds envelop me in their dance … The Atlantic lovingly embraces me… In myself all is peace and calm.
Winner of the Short Story Competition Prize awarded by The Environmental Department of the Galician Autonomous Government.
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