DUBROVNIK: June 1977.
Mid-summer, mid-afternoon, Mediterranean sun, bouncing off the tiles, the medieval walls and the weathered, sun-bleached shutters, almost audible.The shadows black as pitch. The cicadas a wall of sound. Then silence, as if the cicadas, as one, responded to the maestro’s falling baton. Not even a dog barking. One window, just a black square, unshuttered, as the old town slept away the heat of the afternoon. Then, almost blasphemous, blaring from the open window…..
” There is a rose in Spanish Harlem, a red rose……..”
R.I.P. ARETHA FRANKLIN.
