Symbolic Fantasy

The city is asleep and caressed by the music of its romantic rivers …

The color is silver and dark green … and the mountain kissed by the moon, is an immense turquoise. The mist is coming out of the waters and enlarging the landscape. The cypresses are awake and moving languidly filling the air with incense … and the wind turns Granada into an organ, its narrow streets serving as pipes …

The Albayzín has vague and passionate sounds and is wrapped in soft tinsel of dark light … Their sad and dreamy houses moved by the fog, it seems that they want to tell us something about how great they looked …

The valley is steel and gray dust, nothing can be heard that echoes in the silence … the river of gold groans as it gets lost through the absurd tunnel … the mirror of the Generalife runs to marry her boyfriend Genil …

The spirit of Zorrilla floats around the copper and bronze towers of the Alhambra. The wind trembles and the forest has metallic and cello sounds, the squirrels of the convents are crying tears of iron and chastity … The bell of the Candle is chiming a melody so grave and imposing that the cypresses and rose bushes tremble nervously.