[continued from previous entry]
I've done this back and forth thing a lot, a bunch of times, yet I seem to completely forget certain aspects of the experience until I'm immersed in them all over again. Like the way time seems to begin accelerating when the day of departure is five or so days off. Literally seems to begin picking up speed and momentum. A function of the number of things absorbing attention, probably, the feeling of so much to take care of in steadily diminishing pool of time. Logically explained, I´m sure, probably something most everyone experiences. But strange, regardless.
This week has slipped by at what feels like a ferocious pace in retrospect, punctuated by tasks; bizarre, not so user-friendly happenings; and increasingly beautiful weather. The dark and damp gradually shifted over the course of last weekend, transforming back into springtime in Madrid. Found myself walking a local street Tuesday morning and heard the sound of the swifts -- the local version of swallows -- for the first time this year, the one decisive sign that marks the arrival of the warm season for me. The days have grown increasingly summery, the streets choked with people out enjoying it, the murmur of voices five flights down a constant apart from a brief period in the early morning. And in the background, coming and going, the swifts' soft keening call.
The plaza down the street is full most hours of the day and night now, musicians come and go. The same ones, mostly playing the same tunes. A short central American guy with a tape player mounted on a handtruck -- taking up position, turning it on, pulling out a pocket trumpet, playing 'Hello, Dolly.' (No renditions of 'My Way' so far, from anyone, for which I am deeply, sincerely grateful. On the other hand, there have already been far too many renditions of 'Those Were The Days.' Far, far too many.) Singers. Jazz musicians, playing soft, lilting music that winds softly in and out of the murmur of all the voices in conversation. And people with accordions. Not just here in the plaza -- everywhere. Enough of them spread out through the course of the day to give one the feeling of being stalked by a fraternity of older types playing 'Lady of Spain' and 'The Shadow of Your Smile.'
[continued in following entry]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Evening, late April, Madrid sidestreet
España, te quiero
rws 12:57 PM [+]
Comments:
Post a Comment