Far and far up a
hill out of the way was a place with statues and trees, potted plants and clay
holders fired and painted strong colorful ways. There were even more hills, if
possible, behind, and they seemed to throw up their yellowish color towards the
impossibly blue hued sky. The old ones stood patiently in the morning sun
watering the dried plants. Hoses like snakes reached around this or that. How
thirsty the root systems must have been.
I thought that it would make a good
story,
how the statures came alive at night and moved around, - spoke to one
another, - plotted their escapes. Maybe there were friendships forged, enemies
made, or even romances that blossomed by the Hibiscus. Looking around there, it
could be seen that the red and blue structures sat handsomely under that sky.
The entire affair looked like a painting.
And a place down the way has fresh
vegetables and fruits. A tractor sits at the near the bottom of a hill. In the
tent are blueberries and raspberries, onions and carrots and other. Many jars
house various things. Pickles, jams, spreads. There is something sane and grounding
about the mason jars and the fact that someone has filled them, closed them,
labelled them, and set them along tablecloths that rest on sturdy tables.
Looking out from there one can again sense and then see the brightness, the
colors, and the brightness of colors. As
good as it does, as well as it comes off, - none of it seems to have the colors
or lines of pictures of the Greek Islands. There it looks like another planet,-
like earth, but a cut above: the sea, the stucco good enough to eat,- the celebration
of color- blue, orange, deep dark and also light pastel green,- others-. ..
But,
one has to work with what one has, no (question mark). So the fields and barns,
the
sunflower in, well the sun. Horses grazing way back beyond old wooden
fences kept well. Tree, sign, and quietly pronounced sigh, for the day are
incredibly humid and the cool breezes are truant.
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