Plaza Mayor

A Lesson in Presence

The sky was cast in a deep azure glow, illuminating the dark outline of the clouds at night, just above the aura of gold shining from the lights below.  This was Plaza Mayor, in the heart of the old town, where people drank wine and champagne, smoked cigars, ate good food, and stayed at their table long after dessert, because where else did they have to be?

I was beginning to realize Netflix and chill probably didn’t exist as a concept in Madrid.

The scene unfolded like the scene of an old painting, people out and about walking and talking, quietly celebrating nothing more than the night itself, the fact that there is a night at all, that they are here, in this town, living and breathing, able to enjoy the company of friends and strangers.

I know to some people these conclusions might all seem like a wide leap, but I get like this a lot–swept up in romantic allusions whenever I stand in a central part of town, especially at night, and observe everybody all at once, none of whom are in a big hurry to get anyplace, walking wistfully almost in a daydreaming sort of way, almost like they’re thinking and feeling the same things I’m feeling.

I don’t know it for sure.  But I do.

We’re speaking a similar language, even though we normally don’t.  We’re moving to the same rhythm, quietly echoing the same universal praise.  And the chorus is sublime.  Perfect because it’s natural, attainable here and now.  In the name of love, and gratitude.

Yea, I get this way a lot, mostly at night when the day is done.  When I see people enjoying themselves, doing nothing in particular, outside of being here.

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