I think the one thing I will take away from Barcelona is how much I love a well played trumpet. I love how the notes float and hang in the air like winter clouds, heavy with but holding onto snow. I love how the melody echoes through the city, like some sad song played on an weary gramophone in the halls of an abandoned prison.
And it’s not so much that I think of Barcelona as a prison, but that I’m a little travel worn, and about ready to return to the things I know best. It’s a good thing – I feel like I’ve completely satisfied the need in me to travel, and can spend these next few years doing what I need to do.
But then again, maybe all I need is a couple of days on the coast, driving around, baking on the beaches.
Maybe I’ll let these city legs float for a bit in the sea, and see then if I’m ready to move on.
1 comment:
I like the "winter clouds, heavy with but holding onto snow." I can clearly see the type of clouds in my mind's eye. The entire first paragraph is pretty as usual.
mom
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