Formentera

It's almost Africa.
It's the Mediterranean freshness of the sky,
the iridescent light,
the sting of the sun against my skin,
the citrus-scented air.

Formentera is Spain.
The rumble of the sea,
the craggly rocks,
the sound of rain against palm fronds,
the wind-swept fields.

This island is a bule cloud,
and everywhere: green water and sand stone,
bushes of prickly pear and white-washed farmhuses.

Formentera is the taste of a juicy mandarin,
the scent of wild rosemary,
the colour of steamed shellfish.

It's a bit like Greece,
a bit like Malta,
a bit like Morocco,
but it feels like Africa.