It is an early summer morning, the delicate warm breeze swoops through the narrow streets of Barcelona. The glowing medallion rises high from the sea into the sky as it heats up the city. All is peaceful, and soft, and kind as the sunlight reflects on the shiny galvanised rooftops of the terrace houses. The glass windows shone with brilliance reflecting patterns on large white walls inside. Slowly, the city comes alive.
Listen. The fierce footsteps, the clicking of the polished heels against its dirty pavements. Listen to the bashing, digging, nailing as builders try to finish La Sagrada Familia, the worlds most famous unfinished church. Its size and extreme detail catch the eyes of tourists as they stand jaw dropped outside with the beating sun on their bodies, rolled paper and magazines swaying like flames back and forth to create a stronger breeze.
Smell. The smoke as fingers tremble around a perfectly formed cigarette as they begin to light it on the streets. The smell and taste so bitter that it gave comfort, it was their love, their companion their consistency. Inhaling deeply, letting the smoke seep into their cells, finally blowing it out in to the air as if it was the aftermath of a kiss.
Look. Inside the church giant concrete beams tower over tourists, standing high in rows like soldiers. The ancient mullioned windows create a radiant glow into the room, red, yellow, blue, green, orange, the rays of brightness cast squares onto the glossy stone floor, reflecting onto several objects in the room which decorated its otherwise simplicity. It inspires awe by its sheer verticality, and in the manner of the medieval cathedral it emulates.
The afternoon sea breeze whispers like a lover, placing salty kisses on cheeks and tousling long auburn hair as people make their way to watch the sunset on the ocean. As they lay, eyes closed to the lullaby of the ocean, breathing in its poignant salty breath.
Feel. The softness of the sand, still damp from the retreating tide. Water so clear one can see down to the bottom, as though pale green bottle glass to where starfish an big spiny urchins of pink and purple rest upon the broad leaves of the sea-tangle. The waves lap in their steady rhythm, frigid and laced with sea-foam.
Its melody is soporific, its sand blurs out in a blissful trance, the shore fading into liquid gold, vivid in the brilliant light. The flaring hues of the sun melting into the sky and ocean like a divine painting. The forever stretching sea, masked with an apricot colour, that beautiful umber flowing into turquiose. Water so clear one can see down to the bottom, as though pale green bottle glass to where starfish an big spiny urchins of pink and purple rest upon the broad leaves of the sea-tangle. The waves lap in their steady rhythm, frigid and laced with sea-foam. Their melody is soporific, this music of water dragging on rounded stones up and down the beach.