these days are now finally becoming something other then being on tour. the nights on the roof are filled with andalucian winds feel welcome when the doors are left open to soak it in for the sake of dream infiltration and the lungs to pick up on that coded concoction that’s been lurking here for centuries.

yesterday ends with the usual cluster in the platha de caños, appropriately named. left raimundo and fernando there at some point late, tempting as it was to remain forever taking in the chatter and perfect breeze. left to receive my rooftop splendor and the last days of its isolation. this morning another new song startles me in the shower and as i present it to the material world, attempting to record it in the heavily reverbed stairwell that leads from the roof, raimundo comes in following the sound of guitar like water finding its way to a divining rod. i naturally hand the divining over to the maestro and he takes off with it, the recorder still on, and it gets filled with 13 minutes of raimundo’s test drive of the new guitar complete with impromptu flamenco lesson. his virtuosity of “tremolo” picking is staggering.

then we take him to the train station. have that final cervetha. always a slight sadness to part from such a source of music and force of nature. return back to camp and am deposited at a woman’s house to help work on my back. the peaceful attack of the back is long overdue, especially hunched for so many hours a day attempting to ride a guitar, or a plane and train.

the day gets very slow after that. i am thankful for getting lost walking home, seeing the city in a different pattern during that stretch. and then when back up on the roof, siesta makes the only sense. one last long infinite moment of sunny isolation hovering above the shadowed narrow alleys below. the sun bakes the day to perfection and this slice is a fine cake.

- —  -

fernando and i head up to madrid on a late train so i can receive the family flying in from arizona tomorrow. madrid has its own endless temptation the way a big city is apt to, and the striking differences between it and beloved cordoba is annihilating the balance within. the night is one long drug waiting to find its way in to the skin. the hotel is a blur and so unfamiliar in the end. the small wires inside the brain attempt to adjust and tell the heart to just hold its breadth until the view from the roof comes back into play.