after a Blue Moon and jasmine the morning guns

At midnight the parade had ended, and we found our way to a courtyard of jasmine, mint and bougainvillea under open skies and a blue moon. Candlelight and crickets. Reggae tracks, laughter.

Deep into the night we headed home.

Maybe two hours after we fell asleep the guns shook the buildings. Dogs yelped and barked, car alarms worked. This was la despertar  the wake up call to get up and keep partying. It is hard to describe the shuddering volume of these musket fired explosions into the morning sky. Teeth rattling, shell shocking.
So we got up and followed the guns and the brass band leading them along with the police escort. None of musketeers had slept or planned to in the day ahead and they demanded the same of their townspeople.
We followed them till they gathered in the town square and blasted the laurel leaves of the sculpted trees. We were rattled and stunned, we went to breakfast. We were up. This was my second to last day here in Spain.
Sleep was for Scotland. The day promised rocky coastlines and wave spray and sand whispering like mist across the beaches of Guardamar. Art Nouveau cafes jutting into the sea. Panoplies of parasols on the shoreline. Cold beer. Bitter, first harvest olives. Such pretty wee collared doves. A hopeful pine hunkered on the powder dry ridge. These last precious hours shared with my sister. Warmth and wind and colour and clear skies. Songs the heart remembers. Sleep, as I say, was for Scotland. This is the time for the wake up BOOM.