Photo by © Brandon Elijah Scott It was 2013, I was in beautiful Granada, Spain. It was the second week of my nine month backpacking trip across Europe. I wrote in a notebook as I watched. The original was published in May 2013 on my old travel site, Eye & Pen. I've touched it up a bit, truth be told. I hope you enjoy.
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I sit along the ancient stone wall of the bustling plaza, with one leg draped on either side. The Alhambra looms overhead, casting a dull shadow over the stream below. The sun warms my back and the light breeze soothes its hot sting. My eyes flit from here and there, following the playful birds soaring and owning the skies. Oh, the skies. So beautiful, the blinding lustrous blues and the occasional white splotch of hanging cloud. The sounds of the river flowing below me mix wonderfully with the smooth picking of the woman's guitar. Two dogs sit at her feet, listening peacefully. One with various shades of black with orange brown, and the other is golden. They flick their tales at flies, and their eyes are shut, each lying on their sides, soaking up the sun.
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I sit along the ancient stone wall of the bustling plaza, with one leg draped on either side. The Alhambra looms overhead, casting a dull shadow over the stream below. The sun warms my back and the light breeze soothes its hot sting. My eyes flit from here and there, following the playful birds soaring and owning the skies. Oh, the skies. So beautiful, the blinding lustrous blues and the occasional white splotch of hanging cloud. The sounds of the river flowing below me mix wonderfully with the smooth picking of the woman's guitar. Two dogs sit at her feet, listening peacefully. One with various shades of black with orange brown, and the other is golden. They flick their tales at flies, and their eyes are shut, each lying on their sides, soaking up the sun.
Her song tells a solemn story. A sorrowful lament. Tattered gypsy clothing hangs loosely from her shoulders. She is wearing thick grey and brunette mats, and they stream haphazardly from atop her head. Her eyes are closed and she sways, peaceful, with her instrument upon her lap. The music lives, and breathes as she moves, as if it is the marrow within her bones that maintains the flow. The very beat from in her veins. Inspired, she plays. Inspired now was I, and I close my eyes. And I savor. I begin to sway. I am her soul and she is mine. And as she plays for no one, she plays to calm the soul.
Misjudged are some, and some ignored by all. I can only hear the whispers of the passersby. They move along in a flurry of fury, their cameras ready and in-hand. Opening my eyes, I watch the tourist folk gawk at the statuesque stone structure above. They take their photos, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the ancient sites. But they did not truly see the wonder of this place. They look past the gypsy and I, missing the real sights, and stories being told, and the laments being shared. There is love and sorrow here. They lose sight, or perhaps, they never really knew. Forgetting how important it is to slow down. To breathe. And to be overcome. They tour from place to place, as fast as their little feet take them, seeing all they can, not truly seeing. Enlightenment was not theirs today. But it is mine. And hers. And ours. I feel a strong bond of being united and truly akin, together, as one, in one world.
Misjudged are some, and some ignored by all. I can only hear the whispers of the passersby. They move along in a flurry of fury, their cameras ready and in-hand. Opening my eyes, I watch the tourist folk gawk at the statuesque stone structure above. They take their photos, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the ancient sites. But they did not truly see the wonder of this place. They look past the gypsy and I, missing the real sights, and stories being told, and the laments being shared. There is love and sorrow here. They lose sight, or perhaps, they never really knew. Forgetting how important it is to slow down. To breathe. And to be overcome. They tour from place to place, as fast as their little feet take them, seeing all they can, not truly seeing. Enlightenment was not theirs today. But it is mine. And hers. And ours. I feel a strong bond of being united and truly akin, together, as one, in one world.
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