cumulus clouds on pale blue sky, and magpies search for bright things to steal

Cumulus clouds over the flat landscape of Istria, socialist flats looming largely over the countryside, an ugly imposition on a scene that would , in general, have kept its face since the time that the romans ruled the penninsula, grew their olives here, build their roads, trained their gladiators and slaughtered their captives in the arena for the sport of the masses.
Croatian dogs bark at every passing disturbance, it is half past eight in the morning and yesterdays wine holds its promise and saves the head from destructive hangovers. Let the society´s dogs howl, the sounds of industry and building are lost in the peace of sunday morning, there is hardly a sound, the background noises of an active town are absent, and the small local sounds of small birds and the wind rustling in trees are the only sounds about.
Untill the sound of a circular saw in the middle distance makes noises like firewood being cut to a suitable length for chopping. And then the sound of chopping, distant church bells.
And then silence.

The cumulus clouds have drawn to the horizon now, away from the higher-risen sun.
The coffee in the cup on the small glass- topped round table on the balcony is emptied, and is now resting beside this small silver machine. The son and the wife are sleepin.hin

And four magpies have returned, to rest in the landlords olive trees, and raucously converse. Looking for bright things to steal, maybe.