Fleeting Impressions from the Souls of Marrakesh

But it is in a few square feet of the city of Marrakesh, in the Djma el Fna square, that I truly lost my soul while traveling last August. It is here that each marble in the spinning, colliding throng of spectators is a part of the act. It is here, I am certain, that boys on motorcycles fall in love with girls in and out of veils; that girls fall in love with the elaborate henna designs old ladies paint on to the flesh of palms; that stray dollops of henna fall onto and in love with the dirt ground, dry and crust there, until a wandering rubber sole scrapes them loose.