Language Is Not The Barrier

Bought tickets once for Spain,
planned to escape the fading
autumn golds to find brilliance
of Spanish hillsides, vibrancy
of villages, radiance of smiles.

Succumbed, instead, to illness
a fate whose grip defied urges
to flee, thrust us headlong into
the ravages of a blustery winter
remorseless in its stormy rage.

Only dream now of exotic locals,
of sun-baked vistas and cobbled
streets, of busy marketplaces and
houses tucked behind hidden doors
where mothers gather their broods

Motherhood, I imagine, universally
driven to offer comfort, provide
security, no matter the resources –
a call to protect the inner richness
of the family – places that draw me.

Envision plates of home cooked
delicacies, offerings delightful to
the eyes, aromatic, appetizing, and
likely beyond my ability to digest –
this disease imposing sensitivity.

Travelling is a catalyst for change:
exploring cultures, encountering
residents, inspires reflection, the
magic of communicating without
words – languages no barricade

I am marred now, an ungracious
guest – such is the sentence of
this disability – unable to bear the
disappointment on the faces of
those who would extend welcome.

(Image: www.expanish.com)