This an excerpt from my journal that I wrote while sitting in El Parque de Frederico Garcia Lorca. The few people I’ve shared it with enjoyed it, so I decided to share it here as well. It’s meant to be listened to more than it’s meant to be read, so I’ve attached a link to a recording of myself reading it (from a different park, near a different fountain) if you would like to listen to it.
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1DsvyWJOfWiNfXyP_S_9fhRv4tb0_IrnW/view?usp=sharing
Tuesday January 28th, 2020
“Currently I’m sitting en el Parque de Frederico Garcia Lorca. It’s funny, my host mom told me about this park really close to our apartment, but she didn’t say its name. When I got here and saw that it was named after Lorca I freaked out just a little bit.
I thought about writing scholarship applications, sending emails, or calling friends, but I decided not to. Right now I just want to be here. So here I am, just being here.
I’m sitting on a bench near a fountain. I’m surrounded by trees and carefully manicured bushes. I can see short stubby grass in places, but most of the ground is bare but for a thin layer of light green moss. There are little black birds with pale yellow beaks sneaking through the bushes and hopping across the stones. Every now and then a few of them will fly together, darting and weaving over a mostly clear sky. The sun is setting. The thin clouds that lightly brush across the sky are painted orange, then pink, then purple as the sun slides below the horizon. The sky behind the clouds is a light blue, and the sliver of a moon has crept above the trees with a lone, bright star as its companion.
I can hear the birds chirping, chittering and chattering away, as well as the fountain as it bubbles and gurgles continuously. If I listen carefully I can hear the faint whirring of the motor as it hums along keeping the fountain in motion. In the distance I hear children screaming and yelling as they play, and dogs barking beside them. Behind me, someone is playing the guitar, and as they play they speak, more than sing, the words to their song.
Now I can feel a soft chill in the air. The park lights are on; soon the moon will be brighter than the receding sun. Soon I will have to go, but for now -I am here.
That is all.”
Jennifer Broome
Jennifer's Travels 