A place where Pyrenees decide to leave the athmosphere and sink in the Cantabrian sea.
A meadow, down, between atlantic forests.
A freshwater's stream that fills a lake only ten meters far from the ocean.
One of the few lonely places of Jaizkibel.
By now, Marla survives in spite the lack of intelligence and values that suffers the specie that at these centuries domain the Earth like a plague.
For a man of my age, it is an honour knowing Jaizkibel rather well. Once upon a time that on saturday afternoons I used to go to Jaizkibel to hear the sound of the waves and to breathe clean air. I often drove to this little big hill beside the deep and dark blue sea. Jaizkibel is a house without any buzzer. Mountains are houses without buzzer. We don't need to press any buzzer at the entrance. Nature is free. I used to go through the wet grass, sometimes in the middle of the fog. It was like in the life: we usually go through with something that excites us. Those Jaizkibel's times made me drop what I was doing to think only in the present instant. When I was there I didn't miss anyone. I was old enough to decide how I wanted to spend saturday afternoons, but probably I wasn't still old enough to understand many simple things that I had understood when I was a child and that I understand now again. I remember that my temperament was rather quiet. It is still rather quiet. I think that I don't fear death. By that times, as now, I thought that nature may not be the happiness, but it is at least its cousin. Loving nature is a privilege; I am aware. But the return to the nature must be a free process; nobody must subject anyone to a enforced return. All the good things in life are free. All the enforced things are failures. Nobody is too old for the change. The life is a continuous learning.