A letter writer's bay...

...fragile and vulnerable,

humbleness requested,

 a soothing place for anyone,

like St Paul,

who feels like a castaway...

* 

Summer growing numb...

...and I can feel it day by day now.

It is a good time of the year,

a bit of slow motion,

with space around and having time to talk,

the island so present,

with all it´s faces of light...

*

A point of constant return...

...to this almost painful silence, 

echoes in ears, 

a language with no words,

sitting down listening,

to what comes up...

*

Skills for tables and floors...

Have bought her work for years.

Making beautiful things, 

using an art piece of machinery,

on the island of islands...

*

Making magic at Alonia...

 ...no breaks, flowing music only, 

deep roots and presence,

intense listening,

many staying on, all through the night...

*

Just before the evening light...

 ...fresh shirts and combed hair,

just after an afternoon nap. 

Time for watering plants

and warming up the chair for mezé and talks, 

well into the dark of the night...

* 

The Environmentalist...

...meets me any time of the day when I pass through the alley above.

I have known Ingnátio for many years,

same man, same kindness,

and the ability to just be simplicity itself, 

now when becoming less young,

through who he is or through his mezé or atmosphere around him, 

always an exchanged smile and a handshake when passing by...

*