Mompou’s rhythm is elastic. Time seems to dilate, fold, then slip away; the hand on the pulse feels subjective rather than metronomic. This temporal pliancy lets listeners project personal tempo: one can imagine the same Paisaje as dawn or dusk, as the aftertaste of a conversation, or as the sudden memory of a color. Because the music resists definitive interpretation, it continually invites return. Each repetition reveals a new surface sheen; each silence redefines the following sound.