Life, and Other Absurdities.

In Granada I felt something activate. There were secrets in the air that grew thicker the higher you climbed, the farther you went into the hills. I sensed that I had known Granada's secrets before. And someday, perhaps, I will know them again. 

I chose to sleep the night before our journey, and so I took the 11am bus from Madrid, while Bonne and Lorena elected to stay out at bars all night and catch the 7:45. It ended up being a very wise choice on my part, since they ended up spending their three hours of leeway getting lost, and were only just locating the hostel when my bus pulled into the city.

They were able to give me proper directions, and I trotted up the hill feeling fresh despite the bus trip in my jean jacket and flouncy skirt, the mountain breeze tousling my hair around and jangling my earrings. 

I felt as if I could hear music even though it was still, and as I trotted higher and looked around it was like remembering something very obvious that I didn't want to talk about in case nobody else understood. It was exciting and nostalgic and bittersweet all at the same time, and as I looked down over the valley I felt very much on the earth, and didn't want to be anywhere else. 

But I had to be at the hostel, and I trotted up into the hills to find it.