Carmen

A recycled bar across the street buzzes. It is raucous white noise above the plummeting whine of motos and coches. Slapping, staccato steps on cobblestone open the scene. A woman's shouts erupt and echo along the street. Feet and voice advance. "Puta!" she bellows. Her voice and feet bear down. It is a chase told through counterpoint. Opera, unseen but heard.

Carmona

Strategic. Carmona, a rook, in Spain's chessboard history. A natural escarpment overlooking, controlling the fertile fields and navigable rivers beyond. To the south, one weak point secured by Carthaginians to Romans to Spaniards with fortified walls--sticks, stones and bones. At the far end, a crematorium still scorched by the fires of Roman dead.

Raining in Spain

June 6. Rain! Thunder rolls across rooftops, punctuated by bolts of lightning. I am not the tallest point by many meters. I linger in the cool air. It will not last the summer.

Calatrava's bridge and the Torre de los Perdigones just outside the old city perimeter offer better strikes, the tower's camera obscura able to capture but not record such a blinding hit.


I imagine hailstones falling in the warm Sevilla air, climatological perdigones (musket pellets) roundng as they drop from such great height.