This is a funky, romantic city.
The Barcelona air is damp today. The ancient baths were especially wet and inviting. The steaming sauna with the eucalyptus air and the ice cold shower within it. The trickling sound of water wherever you went, the splash of puddles underfoot, the dip and the plunge into the warm or cool water. Frio.
It rained most of the day and is raining now. I sit inside my Barcelona AirBnB, the window doors flung open, the sounds of delight from the streets below dancing upward to join my once-quiet refuge.
The air is filled with a cleansed sense of possibility.
Motorcars and drunkenness, footsteps stomping on the puddled cobblestones, trees drinking in nature’s sweet cloud-given wine.
The wind gently nudges raindrops onto my bare feet.
I dearly love the sound of rain. I could listen for hours.
It is funny how the air can feel so new and fresh and yet the world that it slips through is so aged, so grown.
Umbrellas keep heads hidden below my perch. I wonder for a moment who they are and where they are going; but then they are gone and I softly wish them well.
Each balcony across from my own lays empty, a lonely bike leans against the railing, the neon lights below from Casa Nova reflect against each droplet of water.
This city hums with an intense, underlying energy that I do not know, nor can I properly introduce myself.
I only wish I could dance in the rain.
Beautiful Barcelona. With graffiti on every drop down door. With yelling in the streets, paella and tapas aplenty as you peek through the restaurant windows, the chocolates and cafe and te in the shoppes.
I am happy to have known you.
