A
blood perfect warm sun
and smooth caressing breeze
rustle the leaves
of
the olive and cumquat trees in white cylindrical pots.
The
Black sofas under the Lisbon
sun
are
body warm.
White
tables and chairs,
white
rectangular tin side tables
and
a double shot expresso.
Portuguese
ambient pop wafts out through
this
outdoor cafe on the expansive flat concrete.
Looking
out from this high vantage
to
iridescent sparkling waters
and jagged, jumbled dwellings
which
are impossibly perched and sandwiched in the hilly terrain
painted
greens and clashing but surprisingly pleasing with
the
pinks, mustards, siennas and terracottas.
The
seabirds are calling to the sound of
the
No. 12 tram rattling up and down the alleys of Lisbon,
and to the sounds of
kind construction noises
making
music with teenagers on excursion laughing.
Modernist
and Post-modernist sounds
contrast
with medieval bells,
as
the Bell tolls 11.
25th February
2011
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