Memories of a Small Town
A small town among hills in the south countryside of Algiers
Four distinct seasons, a river loiters free
Dawn pomegranates trees line each path, towering on both sides. Hence its name: Oud-Roumane
It’s so well hidden among grooves of grapes trees on the vines, fig trees with syrupy fruits, pomegranates, apples and pears trees with houses, surrounded by small bosky thickets, and that we can barely discern, from a distance, the terra-cotta tiled roofs, with white-washed limestone walls, the nested houses between the abounding greenery. The thoroughfares bordered by rows of oranges, lemon and olive-trees, cactus of Barbary, and a rustic stone-house in front, bordered by rows of flowers as a fence, with a gate always wide open for the passer by traveler, inviting you to come in and drench your thirst from the well nearby, and there is always a loaf of bread, still hot steaming, just pulled from the rustic adobe oven; that what the house of my grandparents was, in Algeria.
To be continued…
Gimme Shelter, I am writing under the Shelterings Skies 
