It starts with the sound of silence, followed by warmth. Viewed as if through Elton John’s rose-colored glasses, a blood orange sun dips behind clay-tiled roofs, bringing angled shadows and the barest suggestion of moving air. This faint breeze winds its way between the two-storied buildings, ever so gently brushing past crumbling plaster walls. Splashes of red, bright, and enticing as a kiss from cherry lips, jump from between window planters, iron gratings and wide flung shutters faded by the sun. Like crimson-breasted hummingbirds lured to sweet carambola nectar, paired footsteps unerringly gather, converging, collecting, and coalescing along their circuitous routes, as the first tenuously plucked notes tease the ear. The crowd thickens. It is energy encapsulated, building exponentially to a climactic breaking point. The floodgates open as music and passionate dance pour forth, uplifting as steaming Moroccan mint tea with a fine dollop of raw honey, tossed about judiciously with fresh strawberries soaked in Campari, elderflowers to garnish. Lavender, pomegranate and sandalwood are all but forgotten in the full, sensual, deluge upon the senses. Abruptly it seems, all motion stops. Sound trickles away as silence once again fills the void.
notes by clay selkirk, winemaker & all-around cowboy