The Golden Age of Spain

Five hundred years ago Spain was entering its golden age: one hundred years during which it was the richest country in the world thanks to their timely arrival in a "new" world whose ancient riches destined it to become the blood sacrifice to the empire across the ocean. The greed and laziness of the royalty and nobility ended finally in the squandering of the country´s riches so that all that was left was the shell of ornate buildings and a corrupt monarchy. But every day the same splendor of this century of riches rears its humbled head every evening on the shores of the Guadalquivir River, the same river from which Cristobal Columbo set sail for the lands with streets paved with gold. On the banks of this river grow countless trees whose age is the secret of the river, and every evening they invite the sideways, golden rays of sunset to illuminate their weary bark. These trees shed little yellow flowers, like small drops of golden blood, along the shores of the river, and when the sunlight gives into the seduction of the trees and caresses their yellow droppings with a gentleness that seem so powerful that it could shake the very foundations of the earth. And at this moment the Golden Age lives again, although unnoticed by many and no longer coveted by royalty. Instead circles of students with their cheap alcohol and cigarettes bask in the golden glory, and the kayaks that skim across the shimmery, gold surface of the river are the kings of this age that comes and goes with each day. And in this moment on these historical shores I sit, reading the spell-binding words of Márquez, seeing Sevilla in its greatest glory. And to those shores I go now, and for the magic of their intangible gold I abandon this machine until tomorrow, to share my riches with all of you at home who i love so much.

with all the little golden droppings of my heart,
catie