Left the last water station behind

everything, I wondered in silence, is gonna be alright

"Santiago," I called

But that was years ago.
Lo manejaba sin miedo, y adelante;

con tantas ganas, el me dice, con tantas ganas de volver...

Despues de tantos tangos

Almacéns y café. Gatos y Cortázar en las mesas

Hacienda

 He used to play guitar on the back.

In the cold

Time hides behind those glasses

When the lake froze

In 1956 I had opened that door

[We had almost two feet of snow. I spent most of the morning shoveling it out of the uncovered porch and the pathway that led to the cabin. Later in the afternoon, Jemime appeared from across the lake. I could not believe she had made that far. With a book in her hand. Eyes almost impossibly green...]

I had read about Malawi

yet, earlier that day

Imagine rain on an impossibly cold day

 

Chromotherapy - Colored cups

[On a window sill, water-filled colored glasses sit through the day: Violet for meditation, elevation, these subtleties; Blue for words and throat; Green for lungs and heart; Yellow washing liver, intestines, calming anxiety; orange and sex; and finally Red, centered on the sill, more exposed to the sun. Red for the structure of my path. Legs and feet. My armchair, my walking stick, my road diverging in two.]

Broken southeast - gray.

Holliday shadow, or a cold silence on campus

Macarroni e Pizza

[Doppo il pranzo, ci era andato verso il mare. C'erano tante nuvole. Faceva freddo. Nessuno aveva mai visto il sole quel giorno. Rassegnati, marciamo in silenzio, con il vento in faccia che, per il marciapiede, faceva vortici sui sacchetti di plastica]

Meu divino São Cristóvão

waiting for the time to depart - verso un mare senza fine

Comunidade antes da chuva - Communinty, before the rain

Bom dia, comunidade - Sulla strada che porta a São Miguel

Other conversations

De bar, de bar..

A cooking pair - Bacalhau de natas que eh uma delicia

São Paulo - doppo, e prima della pioggia

After the rain, before the next, to come.

A view of São Paulo, on the back

Hidden garden

[Behind the gate, a summer garden. Plants of an extravagant size, sided by earth-beds of cultivated herbs: the scent of rosemary right behind the wall waking up a collection of tea-making weeds, dispersed throughout the impossible back yard: clove, artemisia, cardo bento, garden mint, jessamine, coriander, lilies, basil, chamomile, snapdragon, lion's mouth, rue, herb-of-grace, sandalwood, dragon's blood.

Fruit trees on the back of the patio: guavas, sapotis, mangos flowering: bats have nightly parties, here. I could smell the scent of recently moist soil, footprints of this gardener following bays and channels across the vegetable garden to the right, leading back to an early walk by an orchard.

On a window sill, water-filled colored glasses sit through the day: violet for elevation, these subtleties; blue for words and throat; green for lungs and heart; yellow washing liver, intestines, calming anxiety; orange and sex; and finally red, centered on the sill, more exposed to the sun. Red for the structure of my path. Legs and feet.

My armchair, my walking stick, my road diverging in two.

Hunger, real hunger, was left on this side of the wall.]