And when dryness and harshness force the sun of injustice to sleep in the shade, the spirit gets wider at the sight of an ocean of intense greens all the way to the sky…
The landscape of Campo de Montiel is surprising and can be made out like a crossroads, transforming the sleepy and sober monotony of reddish and yellow fields on the plateau into carpeted green countryside pouring out over the wide horizon. Spring fields of grain, rolling and rolling through the afternoon like ecstasy. And when dryness and harshness force the sun of injustice to sleep in the shade, the spirit gets wider at the sight of an ocean of intense greens all the way to the sky, from the grape leaves that blossom from the deep and twisted roots of our vines.
And in the distance of this limitless land, when the sun radiates, setting the iridescent fields ablaze, trees and bushes that colour the plain with soft, vibrant, dark, intense and greyish greens splash out. Wild olive trees, mastics, rockroses, rosemary, thyme, shrub oaks, savin junipers, Aleppo pines, and the majestic holly oak. Trees and bushes that shield their robust, woody leaves in the sun with their ability to survive the most rigorous conditions of the skies, from which light plays figuratively protecting this natural balance. Thus, the holly oak, with the gruffness of its fallen leaves and its enduring strength.
And there, where man’s volition over this land once decided to bring nature to life out of its dreams and its shadows. There emerged the legendary olive tree, symbol of a culture that crosses necessity with mythology; the almond tree, amidst the travails and the gradients, bewildering the countryside in winter’s final stages with luminosity of its flowers, like an emblem of fertility between the thirst of the steppes and the dryness of the farmer’s ancestral horizons. Or the legendary walnut tree, of unmistakable size, when the water’s freshness resounds with bitter aromas, or around any area. And the fig tree with its green and sweet shade.
The water during this dry spells is a strange miracle. Nonetheless, all the towns in Campo de Montiel come to life irreparably from this water
And there where the water is hidden in the depths of the land’s fresh womb, the haste of men and women since the old days, possibly as early as the Moorish inhabitants, caused this fertile land to flourish. Waterwheels, pools, gutters, ditches all flood these lands with a fresh and damp breath of air, drawing out a landscape with a green fabric which will once again drown itself in the blazing plain’s lyrical horizon.
