Barcelona wasn't exactly warm that afternoon, and in the shade of the trees many people zipped up their light jackets, but as long as you were walking in the sunshine, the temperature in Park Guell could not have been more perfect.
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I was in the minority in short sleeves, just another tourist who had to pay to gain access to the steps of the wonderful complex at the park's lower main entrance.
From the famous lizard partway up the steps
to the mosaics on the ceiling of the structure
it sang with color and with Gaudi's genius.
The view of the city from atop the structure gave way to the Mediterranean in the distance,
while the walkways under the neighboring overhangs transported you inside the skeleton of a beast long vanished.
Up and up the breath-stealing steps led, until I reached the top and surrendered to the curving paths, which wound me once again downward.
In a corridor not far from the bottom, a lone violinist played a song I could not name but vaguely recognized.
I moved closer and leaned against a rock wall just outside his setup. I closed my eyes. The sun's hands on my face were as soft and gentle and warming and loving as a mother's embrace of her baby. The music filled my heart to the point that--and this is the sentimental, silly truth of me--I thought I might not be capable of containing the pure, wordless, unburdened joy of that moment.
If I have ever given a reader that much joy, for even a single instant, then I have done at least one thing of wonder.
I remained there, utterly still, eyes closed, for I know not how long, and then the music stopped, my heart released its control, and I opened my eyes and walked on.
A perfect Barcelona moment.