hanging in Cuenca

One of the cities that have amazed me the most is Cuenca. It lies in the south of Madrid, Spain. I was there about this time of the year, one year ago. This trip was kind of a pilgrimage. After Toledo, I did not expect that this not so well known place would drive my mind so far away.
Walking and walking, with a lust to see more, to step as far as possible, to hang down the rocks as the Casas Colgadas, where a very impressive museum is situated, el Museo de Arte Abstracto Español. The Casas Colgadas (Hanging Houses) is one of the many medieval buildings in Cuenca that are partly hanging on the rocks of the gauges formed around the main part of the city. If not attentive, one can very easily be found torn in pieces in one of the rivers where the gauges end, about 100 m downwards, i.e. the rivers Júcar on the north and the river Huécar to the south of the city. A reasoning for the buildings hanging above the gauges is unknown.

See, the exact time that one needs it, one finds a representation of one's emotions in nature. Hanging. Hanging thoughts, hanging future, hanging relations. And we hiked and we hiked. Sometimes we could even feel a kind of danger below our footsteps, one step away and we would be falling down the gauge into the rivers. With so much vegetation around, so tall trees, but everything was dry, nude, and we were (or would be made) part of the landscape.

The climate in Cuenca is as in all continental southern european countries. The summers are hard to breathe, hard to live, hard to cope with. Because of the sun, it seems to me that he is bigger southwards, stronger. So shining that it makes it even hard to see, it seems like there is a foam in the atmosphere; it is that everything vaporizes, letting everything dried and everything empty of juices. Arid, as if there's nothing worth to think of.

But you were late, darling.