“In the present day, when popular literature is running into the low levels of life, and luxuriating on the vices and follies of mankind; and when the universal pursuit of gain is trampling down the early growth of poetic feeling, and wearing out the verdure of the soul, I question whether it would not be of service for the reader occasionally to turn to these records of prouder times and loftier modes of thinking; and to steep himself to the very lips in old Spanish romance.” This past weekend, I had the privilege to go to the nearby city of Granada, home to the well-known palace and complex La Alhambra. My group was only able to spend about 2-2.5 hours there, but I could have easily spent a week! As Washington Irving wrote in his Tales of the Alhambra, it is indeed a place to "linger and loiter."
A bit caught up in the "old Spanish romance" Irving mentions, I found myself pulling out my notebook on the morning bus ride to Granada to jot down some thoughts. I had just woken up from a few hours of on-and-off dozing and happily found myself in the golden moment in which everyone around me was still frozen in sleep and in silence. Being the first to awake allows for one of my favorite pockets of time (and not one I get to relish in often as the late-sleeper that I am). It's a time in which the day is in limbo--the moon hanging on by a fading thread as a whispering sun bathes the earth and sky in a hazy light: the day has begun and yet still waits to be awoken from slumber. In the stillness of this particular limbo moment, I looked out the bus window to see the sun barely creeping over the dry Granada mountains and the early fog drifting along in the distance, After a few long moments, I pulled my eyes away from the landscape and let my pen scribble along the page: Man really has nothing on nature, and yet we try so hard. Gazing out the bus window, there are olive orchards, rows and rows of trees, for kilometers. They blanket the mountains, covering steep hillsides and rocky turf. One has to wonder who dared to challenge the land to plant trees here. (And now, a haiku) Spain's mountainous orchards shrink me. How did trees get there? How did we get here? (And now for the debatably less existencial 6-word stories Arielle and I wrote the next day) Estamos en Granada. No comemos granadas (We are in Granada. We don't eat pomegranates). Granada: una ciudad sin las granadas (Granada: a city without pomegranates). En Granada, no hay ningún caballo (In Granada, there are no horses). Hay perros más grandes en Granada (There are bigger dogs in Granada). After spending a lovely weekend in the smaller, romantic and yet overall seemingly more modern city of Granada, I was glad to return to Sevilla (I don't fault it for its preference for tiny dogs). On the bus ride back, I decidedly labelled it "home." To close out, I invite all my loyal readers to take a page from Hemingway's book and share your own 6-word stories. As Sandra Cisneros wrote, "We all have a story." Whether it's about your day, your week, your dinner--I'd love to hear! Missing you all and sending love from Spain (which may be one autonomous region smaller pretty soon)!
5 Comments
Mom
10/11/2017 01:11:40 am
Ooh.....I love your prose. Such a beautiful description of your "limbo time". I know exactly what you mean. Your blog and excellent photos transported me there for a moment. Then I realized that we won't be coming. Too sad-I miss you, but I will see both you and Spain soon!
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Elana
10/12/2017 05:41:51 am
Miss you too, Mom! And yes, you will see both me and Spain soon!
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David
10/12/2017 05:24:38 pm
Your photos, prose, AND poems are so beautiful! Keep the blog posts coming! And for my 6 word poem:
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Elana
10/15/2017 03:59:12 pm
aw thanks, Dad. Te amo mucho!
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Shayna Burack
10/18/2017 02:39:26 pm
Te extrano muchisimo <3
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