Meeting Pinetree-She | the feminine force at the edge of the acropolis
—finding the feminine force in the almost island of Peñiscola, Spain —
”finding the feminine force on the almost-island of Peñiscola, Spain”
The ocean was unbearably blue, the kind of blue that could make a girl feel gentle guilt for daring to have a few cares in the world. But here we were, traveling by car along an unplanned route through the eastern coastline of Spain. We’d found Peñiscola (pronounces “pjenjescola” on a map along our path, had a good chuckle at the name and decided we must go here if only to be able to say we went to penis-cola. We’re mature like that.
But the quaint Hellenic-esque acropolis held her ground and, unfortunate name aside, was quite a beauty to behold. Although attached to the main land, the little turret of a town felt like an island.
Ambling up her cobble stone streets, we found ourselves ensconced by great castle walls on all sides. Everything on this side of the wall felt distinctly Greek. White washed buildings with cobalt details coloured the town in calming hues. Every now and then a bronze obelisc appeared from between the pathway cobbles. Bits of broken ceramic with intricate blue and white patterns were pressed into wet-window sill cement. My fingers trailed their edges searching for whispers from the past. There was not a car in sight. This little village was motorless. And as such, the pace of life here on the hill was slower, calmer; folks stopping to talk to each other in the corridors of their quiet stone kingdom.
I stood drinking in the scene, my human heart enjoying the reprieve from the ever speedy forward moving hustle of industry and innovation. There was no “más rapido” here. Amid the people of Peñiscola I found permission to drift into being.
We ordered some beers at a bar teetering on the cliff edge of the rocky outcrop. They arrived, deliciously chilled, and for a few moments, none of us spoke. We just sat there, refreshments in hand, grinning at each other, in awe of where life had landed us on our little trip.
Behind me, a lone pine tree, roots exposed and crown – a wild windswept mane from years of surviving on the presipice of life – clung effortlessly to the ochre edges of the acropilis. She was beautiful. Ruggedly, resiliently beautiful.
A funny thing that, when it dawns on you that ‘rugged’ and ‘resilient’ hold more beauty than the delicate and manicured rosebush in her mirror shimmering pot. That nubile creature hasn’t faced not one moment of hardship down her quiet side street.
Pine TreeShe is the epitome of feminine survival – and in that “I’m still here”, “I’m still holding on” lies her exquisite peace. It’s the bough under which you can fully surrender because you know she can hold you.
She can hold anything.
She’s been doing it for decades. Perhaps even centuries…
‘Sit. Become quiet. Become the blue. Here nothing will snag at you.’
The beers were done, and the menfolk wanted to hit the road again.
“Wait, I need to sketch her quickly,” I delayed as the bill was being paid.
“Who? The waitress in the cute apron?” my partner joked.
“No. Pine TreeShe.”
“Why don’t you just take a quick photo?” our other travel companion interjected.
I didn’t say anything back, instead commencing my quick conversation with Her through pencil and paper.
But as we were walking down the stone steps of Peñiscola, I thought ‘the world has been taking things from the strong feminine for too long.’
Besides you can’t capture this kind of awareness in a high-def photo. It can only be felt, sensed by spirit.
Embodied beauty is best rendered by artists’ pens and brushes. For only in the language of the fleeting ephemeral under a quick, impulsive hand could PineTreeShe appear on paper as the beautiful rooted body I hope will cling to the citadel for many moons to come.
Feature Photograph Drew Dizzy Graham