With every turn you seem a little higher, a little more breathless, as you’re lifted up towards the crowning heights of the Alhambra. The noon sun casts thin, imagined shadows on the occasional white stoned Moorish arch, so aptly set before scenic orchards and fountains....

Some of us wrote poems; others, secretive narratives of psychological import. But what I couldn’t forget was the palpable feeling that anything you wrote would be new and fresh, having taken on the senses of the people and their unmistakeable vibe.....

- Weyman Chan

Participant, Spring 2012

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