April 30th, 2008 The city smells of orange blossoms. The streets are narrow and crooked, crumbling and cobbled with rough gray stones. I get off the bus and walk out of my way, get lost, or am I just exploring?
I walked toward a narrow street that is sandwiched between old apartment homes and Rio del Darro. The weather is cool in the shade but sparkling warm in the sun and a seat by the river seems just as appetizing as my juicy falafel pita.
I cross the precious arched foot bridge to the other side of the river to find a path down to hear the water passing by.
White cotton blooms are falling the sky and spring turns my eyes into blurry Picasso painted puffy circles. There are 6 white, gray and black speckled cats cruising along the sides of the river, a young girl reading a textbook, another long-haired young man smoking puro and mediating in lotus position. Someone is playing guitar on the upper ledge of the river.
The sun has gone over the
The sundown brings more people into the streets, more guitars melodies in the distance, with the birds singing an introduction piece as they fly sharing their song to every rooftop.
Who built these streets that thousands continue to get lost through each day? Each stone of the streets are laid out in a pattern and picture, sometimes even into a figure of a pomegranate,
many more stories to share
to the melody of guitar plucks
through stories of flamenco.