cadaques
summer in spain is dangling your legs off a pier into a violently blue sea under the mediterranean firmament, peach juice dribbling down your chin in sticky rivulets. summer in spain is cannonballing into the crystalline sea - that perfect inversion of the blue bowl of sky, ringed by a blue contrapuntal horizon that refuses to divulge where the sea ends and the sky begins. summer in spain is wind flaying sunburn off skin; it is calamari that doesn't taste of rubber; it's sea-smooth rocks and rough roads, vastness and intimacy, heat and coolness, all at once. summer in spain is lying on your back after sunset, cold terracotta under you, and the black net of night above, bulging with a universe of stars. summer in spain is also composing this on the back of a placemat, because there's no freaking internet around here.