It seems an age since light has flooded into our little house in rural Mallorca. Only the front door is open while we have the builders working on the roof; all the other external shutters are firmly closed to protect the windows and other glazed doors from debris – and the occasional dropped tile – falling from above (usually followed by loud shouting in Arabic). Having been going on for just over two weeks, our mole-like existence is set to continue for a few more days yet . . .
From flying tiles . . .
I’m not complaining, because the workers seem to be doing a brilliant job, working like the artisans that they clearly are, but I miss being able to see the country views through the windows. Although the weather has been lovely, we feel pretty much confined indoors because the area around the house has become a rather hazardous zone; we have a pretty impressive hat collection, but they’re mostly of the straw variety and unlikely to deflect the pain from a flying terracotta tile.
. . . to flying predators
So, to remind myself of what I’m missing, I’ve found a photo (taken with a zoom lens) I took from the sitting room one day, of a kestrel checking out the Mediterranean cypress tree just outside the house. Given the current level of noise around here, I doubt there are any kestrels to be seen at the moment . . . but they’ll be back. Impressive, eh?