|
Sunday, April 27, 2003 Summery weather has begun creeping in here in earnest. A touch cooler and softer than the real thing, this being a bit early for the full-blown item. Which is just fine. It's got people out enjoying it so that the city feels busier than its cool-weather self, slowly finding its feet in the late weekend-morning hours, then picking up steam and carrying on throughout the night. The plazas are full of people, the neighborhood streets overflowing with pedestrians (when passing cars don't force them onto the sidewalk). Yesterday morning began with overcast skies. When I pulled up the shades around 9 a.m., I took a look at the gray scene and thought to myself, Maybe this will be one of those days that morphs into a beautiful sunny bugger as it moves along. Sure enough, come early afternoon, thinning clouds allowed fleeting appearances of blue sky and sunlight. By mid-afternoon, fine weather had rolled in, people seemed to flow out into the streets like water through a breached dam, remaining there, surging happily in all directions until 4 or 5 a.m. Even then, stray groups wandered about talking and singing for another hour or two. What I'm getting at with all this spewage is that it is absolutely beautiful here. When I went out for the Sunday morning paper and cup of espresso around 10:30, it was as perfect a late April morning as one could ask for. I stopped by the kiosk in the plaza, picked up the Sunday paper, headed out the pedestrian walkway that leads to the next street over, la Calle de Augusto Figueroa, and stepped out into the sunlight, heading off to the right, toward la Calle de Hortaleza and my usual Sunday a.m. café joint. I stopped by the streetside recycling bins to dump unwanted sections of the paper along with the circulars. As I'm doing that, I notice a group of seven people standing maybe 15 feet away, in the middle of a side street right where it empties on Figueroa. Four males, three females, all in their 20s and 30s. Talking, laughing. One of the women carries a guitar, next thing I know she's begun playing the intro to a flamenco piece. The others begin clapping in the rhythmic, seemingly ragged way that is integral to so much flamenco (it only seems ragged, the way down-home blues can seem ragged). The woman with the guitar begins singing, some of the others join her. Beautiful, joyful flamenco music rises into the morning air, seemingly out of nowhere. I finish dumping paper into the bin and remain where I am, soaking up this sudden burst of song. A car comes along the side street, the group has to move out of the way -- the music stops, they stand together talking, laughing. I wait another moment, until it becomes apparent the music won't be starting up again right away. Then I head up the street, my head practically buzzing with the sudden clarity that certain kinds of unexpected moments can bring. The days are full of amazing small moments. They're everywhere, and sometimes they simply refuse to let us ignore them. Madrid -- the last Sunday morning of April, 2003. rws 6:50 AM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment
|