Dragon Spines and Mountain Crests

I suspect my friends may have been surprised by the way sheer heat just drains active impulse away. We did not get to do as much as was hoped or planned, but I did warn them. The house was beautiful, tiled, cool, pretty with a swimming pool large enough to enchant our youngest companion far more than the waterways of the Alhambra ('It's just a fountain') Flamenco in the Sacramonte ('It's like the bits of tap I don't like') or history ('Queen Isabella sounds really boring') I am pleased that she enjoyed the holiday, but for the life of me don't quite understand how or why she did.

Memories for myself? The Alhambra, exquisite as always; two kittens playing in the Court of the Lions, Russ' face as he observed the beauty of the Nasrid palaces for the first time, the play of water and stone and light. Finally getting to the Sacromonte, after years of my family's objections. The baffling beauty of the Mezquita. Eating old style tapas in Jaen, where there is a sense of friendliness and grandeur behind the graffiti. The crags of the Sierras, the light on the hills.

I'm tired but it's a good feeling, and the summer's far from over yet.