Wednesday, July 13, 2016


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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