Sunday, July 25, 2010

Spanish Steps


Her table by the window at El Cafe' Salambo was perfectly positioned for taking in the view of the lively streets of Grácia. She was intoxicated, not by the wine glass in her hand but by the people and the fervor they portrayed in life, the arts and love. Sipping slowing,  she stared. Taking in the scenery; her eyes never leaving the streets. She could hear the faint sound of the spanish guitar, it's beautiful melody followed by rhytmic clapping. Flamenco music. At the far corner of the square, among the crowds of people, a woman danced. Entranced, she left the cafe' and ventured towards the music. she saw her. A woman, with hair black as the raven, swept into a bun.with  a single rose behind her ear and a black dress that clung perfectly and swayed gracefully then violently as she turned. Her eyes piercing and her movements fluid and strong. It was as if she had ventured into a place no one could follow, exhibiting a feeling no one could understand. The concentration she displayed was intriguing, There was such amazing grace and power. A few little girls began a dance of their own, giggling, trying to mimic the beautiful dancer. A man selling flowers placed tiny flowers in their hair. They jumped and smiled in excitement. All too soon, the music stopped and the crowd broke away, she stayed there a few minutes more to watch the woman and the musicians pack away their instruments. then they were gone. Disappearing like ghosts into the crowded streets. Leaving behind only the memory of the music.

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