A poet once said: “A Rose is a Rose, is a Rose, is a Rose…”. Roses stand out anywhere they are. They can dominate the environment. They are the queen of the flowers. They speak for themselves no matter who is around.
Segregado num confim sem esperança, ele reflexiona sobre a vida, a guerra e a morte.
Almost nothing around, the boats add an intriguing point to the scenery: the day is seeing its last moments of glory and, nevertheless, they are still there in the middle of nowhere… Hopeless…
The fun of watching and learning how these birds were moving around to find their best places to spend the night. The chirps simulating and end of day’s symphony.
Irrevocably, progress is here, in one way or another. I feel it and I handle it with a safe distance. Sort of keeping it at bay (literally, in this case…).
They are there, more or less hidden, waiting to been and discovered. Sometimes, just a rain or the sun hitting, they bloom.
A small house for a small man.
It was built with pieces from here and there just like his life: little episodes interconnected by his wake-ups of all mornings.
Not a fancy life, not a fancy house.
But, it was his house, helping him to get up every morning and live another little episode…
The exact moment when the day intersects with the night…
Oh! I would like to be there in these critical times.